


Endarkened

by sifshadowheart



Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Aged Up Max Lightwood, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Amoral Alec Lightwood, Dark Alec Lightwood, Demon Deals, Good Parent Asmodeus (Shadowhunter Chronicles), He gets better, Immortality, M/M, Morally Grey Magnus Bane, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: In the deepest recesses of his mind, the parts that were buried under the overwhelming wash of rage, pain, grief, and guilt, Alec Lightwood knew what he was doing was wrong.It went against everything he’d ever stood for.Everything he’d ever worked to accomplish.And yet…And yet, here he was, push having come to shove, and he was doing it anyway.Dark(ish) Malec A/U
Relationships: Asmodeus & Alec Lightwood, Asmodeus & Magnus Bane, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 172
Kudos: 761





	1. Chapter 1

** Endarkened **

**Chapter One: Can’t or Won’t?**

In the deepest recesses of his mind, the parts that were buried under the overwhelming wash of rage, pain, grief, and guilt, Alec Lightwood _knew_ what he was doing was wrong.

It went against everything he’d ever stood for.

Everything he’d ever worked to accomplish.

And yet…

And yet, here he was, push having come to shove, and he was doing it _anyway_.

He’d seen Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, draw a summoning circle countless times over a year of dating and four years of marriage.

Watched, enraptured as always, at the power that his love controlled with a flick of his hands.

Learned enough of the magical arts in five years plus his shadowhunter education before them to help his husband where he could and to be there as a silent support when he couldn’t.

Alec discovered from one of his first moments with Magnus how a nephilim’s innate power can bolster even the most flagging of magics.

That underneath all of the trappings, all the bells and candles and crystals and incense, that _power_ was what mattered most of all.

And Nephilim?

Nephilim had it _in spades._

Valentine had taught him that.

Alec had just never had a reason to _use_ all of that knowledge.

Until now at least.

Especially since he knew that the one he was going to call upon was – more likely than not – already listening and just _waiting_ for Alec’s call.

“You know,” the deep and darkly amused voice was just as bone-chilling terrifying despite the handsome face it belonged to as the first time Alec met who would become – to both of their chagrin – his father-in-law. Also known as Asmodeus, King of Edom, Prince of Hell, and Fallen Angel. That that didn’t stop him, one of the most feared demons of _all time_ from being a good dad was rather mind-boggling to anyone who’d seen the demon wrapped in the guise of a handsome man of indistinct Asian ancestry around his favored son. “When I said that you would be the end of Magnus, I hadn’t meant it quite so literally.”

Asmodeus had been metaphorical. Perhaps Magnus would die in a blaze of glory at his Shadowhunter’s side. Perhaps he would find a way to truly bind his immortality and live out a mortal life with his husband. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. He _hadn’t_ thought, though clearly he should have, that his son would be the victim of Clave prejudice colliding in spectacular fashion with his husband’s success, some bigoted scum assassinating his son the _day_ after Alec was sworn in as the Clave’s Consul and highest authority short of Raziel himself.

If the smell of blood that was wafting off of his _wrecked_ son-in-law was any sign, Alec hadn’t waited long after his bond to Magnus snapped before snapping himself.

It _had_ done his demonic heart good to see his son-in-law bathe in the blood of his son’s killers and those who’d conspired to see it done.

Even if at the end of the day it was nothing more than a case of too little, too late.

Alec chuckled darkly. “That makes two of use.”

“I should kill you where you stand, Nephilim.” Asmodeus said with faux-idleness, deliberately wrapping his fingers one at a time around the head of his ebony cane and stepping out of the summoning circle made with equal parts hellfire ash and Lightwood’s own blood. He supposed when active magic wasn’t available, latent would do the job. “Tell me. Tell me why I shouldn’t. It would be an acceptable price to pay for allowing _my son_ , _my heir_ to die on your watch and by your people. Unless your summoning me was a very convoluted and yet appropriate way of committing suicide.”

Asmodeus tried not to get his hopes up for the latter.

His son-in-law had always been many things in all the times he’d met him, but prone to fits of nihilism wasn’t one of them.

No.

Fearless, brave, _just,_ had always been the traits associated with his Magnus’s great love.

It made Asmodeus curious over what thought had occurred in that writhing morass of grief and rage that had taken over Alec heart, mind, and soul that required _his_ presence.

“I can’t live without him, Asmodeus.” Alec told him, voice as empty and broken as the look in his eyes. “He’s my one, my everything.” Fire suddenly returned to that bright blue gaze that Asmodeus was certain his son had written odes about. “Bring him back to me. I’ll pay any price. Do _anything_ , Asmodeus. Please.” He whispered, fire dying as quickly as it had lit. “Please bring him back.”

Ah. Asmodeus hid a mental sigh. So that was it. The final plea of a broken man. Worse: a broken Nephilim. In all his eons, there was rarely anything _quite_ so pathetic a sight.

“Can’t live without him?” The Prince of Hell asked. “Or _won’t_?”

“Fine,” Alec snarled, teeth bared in a _charming_ display. “Won’t. You tried to tear us apart once and failed. We can’t live without each other, I _won’t_ live without him. I can’t.” His laugh echoed with despair. “I don’t know how anymore. I don’t even know who I am except for his.”

“I do appreciate the irony of that coming from the Consul of the Clave.” Asmodeus commented. “But it is not so easy as you may wish. Magnus is not some mayfly lived mortal. His soul carried a weight and worth. His death cannot be reversed.”

Before Alec could completely collapse at what sounded to him as an outright refusal, Asmodeus pausing for only a moment to truly savor his despair, he continued.

“However.”

Alec’s dark head shot up from where it’d lowered, hope that was painful to witness returning to his eyes and resolve to his face and form.

“It could, for a price, be _undone_.”

“Tell me.” Alec demanded, all hesitation over _who_ he was speaking with evaporating as if it’d never been.

…

Asmodeus took a seat, recognizing where Lightwood had completed the summoning.

How could he not?

His son had lived in this loft for over fifty years.

Even with Magnus and his husband splitting their time between New York and Alicante over the last few years, it was still just as much _Magnus’s_ as it had ever been from the art his son collected with disregard to the magical artefacts he horded with care.

“If you choose this path it will not be _easy_.” Asmodeus warned. “It will require a great sacrifice on your part to complete. Something _worth_ the magic and effort it will take to unspool time and send you back to save him. And even then: this path has already been tread once. Time will try to correct itself, try to stick with the ordained order. A great disturbance will be needed to divert the course and pull of time and prevent Magnus’s inevitable death.” He smirked, eyes flashing the same golden-cat as his son’s. “This is no mere time-travel spell we are speaking of. If it was, it would be of no use: you would not remember what needed to be done and all would continue on as if your soul was never sent back. This is _more_. By the laws which even I must abide, the cost of it is correspondingly great.”

“That’s what you mean by undone.” Alec said, realization breaking over his face as he sat heavily in the plush couch where he’d cuddled and snuggled and laughed and _lived_ with Magnus on so many nights spent in, reveling in each other’s company or taking it for granted that they would always have each other. Especially Alec, as sorry for it as he now was. He was _never_ supposed to outlive his husband and love. Everything said he was meant to die first. He was a Shadowhunter with an accompanying short life span. He was mortal. He had lethal enemies, and so on. “There’s a way to send me back _with_ my memories intact but it takes so much power that it’s not commonly used.”

“Try _never_.” Asmodeus smirked. “As it requires a rune placed on your very _soul_ to ensure that your mind and memories remain even as time is unspooled. No warlock worth their magic would trust a Fallen _or_ an angel to do such a thing to them. But…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Alec nodded, tense but resolved. “What’ll it do to me? The rune.” He clarified at the arch of Asmodeus’s brow. If everything worked he could figure out what the rest of the spell would do, it was only the rune – placement aside – that he was uncertain of.

“It’s an anchor.” Asmodeus explained, twirling a hand in a motion eerily similar to his son. “It will make _this_ version of you the default… _setting_ if you will for your soul. All the memories, all the grief and rage and pain, it will _always_ be with you. You could live to a thousand years old, have your memory altered or wiped completely, and you’ll _still_ have all the memories of this life up until the moment the rune is placed.”

“And the price?” Alec asked after he’d taken a few minutes to absorb that. “What’ll that be?”

“As the caster, I’ll retain my memories.” Asmodeus warned. “There will be no voiding this deal because the other party isn’t aware of its existence. I will know and I will watch to ensure that you carry out your part. If Magnus were to die after all we do to void it, it will be _your_ soul I will take as payment for his death. That said,” he pursed his lips. “One of the Mortal Instruments seems a significant enough sacrifice to pay the price of the spell _and_ permanently alter the course of the future.”

“I’ll destroy the Cup.” Alec jumped on that at once. With the Clave and what it cost him, he found that he agreed with something both Raphael and Magnus had mentioned at one time or another: that without it and how cheaply the Clave held the lives of their own people, perhaps the Nephilim _deserved_ to die out. The world had turned for millennia before them and would continue for eons after them. “Even for Magnus I wouldn’t give you a Mortal Instrument, Asmodeus. I won’t save Magnus just to bring him into a world that he’d hate when Hell comes to Earth.”

“Fair enough.” Asmodeus chuckled. He’d had to try. “It’s an accord then: the destruction of the Mortal Cup in exchange for the time unspooling spell and the chance to alter history.”

“We’re agreed.”

“ _Excellent_.” Asmodeus grinned wickedly, eyes flashing, then gave his son-in-law a final warning before he carved the rune into Alec’s very soul. “I have warned you once but I will again: time will yearn to right itself and return to the path already ordained. Deaths, births, significant points in time, all of them will still attempt to come out the same as it has been written. For every life you save, another might be taken. Be careful that in the end you don’t save my son just to lose yourself. As you say: neither of you wishes to live without the other. Don’t make my son mourn you before your time, Alec Lightwood.”

“I won’t.” Alec met his gaze head-on. “I swear it.”

Then all Alec felt for what could have been a moment or _eons_ was blinding, soul-deep _agony_.

…

Even at the end of his life, Alec couldn’t say how long the pain lasted until he sank down into the endless black and grey of sleep.

He did remember waking up, however.

His eyes – not gritty or glued shut from crying himself to sleep – fluttered open and for a long moment he’d thought it all was just a night terror. His deepest fears coming out to play in his sleep. Then his eyes focused on what they were looking at – the drab grey walls of his old room at the Institute and he _knew_ down to his bones with the wash of excitement-tinged-grief that threated to pull him under again that it _was_ real.

He _had_ done it.

Magnus had died and Alec made his own deepest fears come true by not protecting him better then bargaining with Asmodeus to save him.

All he wanted in that moment was to bury his face in his pillow and wish it all away but he couldn’t as another thought broke the surface of his self-loathing and grief: if he was _back_ at the Institute in the room he’d shared before Magnus moved in part-time – which was easy to spot the lacks of _Magnus_ in the drab drab drab room – then they’d done it. Together he and Asmodeus had unwound time. What had happened hadn’t happened _yet_.

He _could_ still save him.

He _could_ still protect him.

But he couldn’t do either of those things if he allowed himself to wallow.

Sitting up, he quickly spotted the bright spots of color that were so distinctly out of place on his nightstand: a trio of tarot cards that looked like scenes from real life and as he picked them up that’s what he was certain they were.

 _Four of Runes, The Warlock, Ace of Runes_.

He didn’t need a physic or card-reader to tell him it was a past-present-future layout. Not with the Mortal Cup staring at him bright and accusing from the Ace of Runes card. An exact replica, if he wasn’t mistaken, of the one in which Jocelyn Fairchild had hidden the Mortal Cup.

At least that much gave him something to go on: he knew everything else aside, that he was in the past _before_ Clary had found the card and pulled out the Cup…which actually made things a lot easier.

Jocelyn had wanted the Cup close but not too close, obvious to her but not anyone else, and used her special skills to hide it in plain sight.

There was just _one_ problem with that: an enchanted tarot card was _significantly_ easier to destroy than one of the Mortal Instruments – and at the moment that’s all the Cup was, a tarot card.

Climbing out of bed, he stared at the images on the Four of Runes – the moment he’d grabbed Magnus by the lapels of his jacket at his wedding-that-wasn’t and kissed him in front of half the Clave leadership – and the Warlock of Magnus brewing some sort of potion with his cat-eyes on show, for longer than he would likely ever admit to, eating up the moments frozen in him with ravenous eyes.

Determined, Alec got dressed, getting another idea of when he was from the sight of himself in the mirror, then tucked the Cup card away in his inside pocket of his leather jacket and hid the others in his book of Shakespeare’s sonnets that even Izzy or Jace didn’t know he kept locked in his nightstand drawer.

Based on the way he looked in the mirror, the runes he had and the ones he didn’t, plus the card…he’d wager that he was _close_ to when he’d met Magnus originally.

As he was uninjured and didn’t have a deep black Iratze healing rune on his body, he also could count out anything after the Forsaken attack, which narrowed down the time frame even further. Checking his phone for the date, he tried to estimate when he actually was not just in time but as a frame of reference for events. Everything happened so quickly back when he first met Magnus that it was hard to say for certain and a date wasn’t all that helpful in that regard.

Which really only left him with “before Forsaken attack” and had him crossing his fingers that Asmodeus had dropped him far enough into the past from reading his memories or his own knowledge of events to when he hoped he was.

Still…there was only one way to find out.

With that in mind, Alec grabbed his basic “mundane” knife and his wallet, slipping his stele into his pocket, and went out on a mission to find out exactly _when_ he was – and what he was going to have to do to keep his father-in-law from making good on the threats to his life if he didn’t come through.

A thought of how to pinpoint the time even further had him detouring, it being early enough – as in it was still so early in the day that it was dark outside – that the skeleton crew in the Ops center didn’t pay him any attention, which was exactly how he wanted it.

He might not be Izzy but he knew how to work the security system, especially with the older technology it was still running on – yet another hint – and he had the cameras from every angle that observed the artefacts vault cycling. A moment later he was up, stretching, then moving over and unlocking the one he was after. And there it was: all gleaming platinum setting and chain and a four-carat ruby.

 _Excellent_.

With sure hands he had it out of the vault, in his pocket, and the vault once more secured.

The number of people who currently knew that necklace existed let alone was in that vault was pitifully few and of them Alec wasn’t supposed to be one of them. If Hodge wasn’t a _vile fucking traitor_ Alec might feel bad about setting him up. He was though and thus Alec had approximately zero pity for him when the theft was eventually discovered.

Alec jogged back over to his station and corrected the alteration to the security cameras, then signed himself out for an early patrol, checking out only regular equipment.

And before anyone was even really aware he was up and moving, Alec was gone.

He had a, call it a theory, to test.

…


	2. Chapter 2

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Two: Madam Dorothea**

With the hour being before dawn, Alec found himself lingering and jittery inside of a twenty-four-hour coffee shop slash diner that served suspicious looking meat products but excellent pancakes.

The coffee might resemble tar – or the pits of hell, either way – before he dumped sugar and creamer in it but it did the job of kicking his brain into _thinking_ and not just _reacting_.

Remarkable what he was capable of now that he knew Magnus was alive – if currently completely unaware of Alec’s very existence.

According to the hours posted on the auction house’s website under the “psychic readings” portion, he had time to kill and then some, “Madam Dorothea” apparently not in for customers until noon.

Which worked out just fine for him.

He had a bit of shopping to do beforehand anyway, as well as moving around his trust fund.

If there was one thing he was certain of, above and beyond everything else, it was that noses weren’t just going to be bent out of joint or even broken before he was done but outright shattered. His current anticipated fallout from his current mindset and plan of action was estimated at the very least his disownment, if not being out-and-out disavowed by the Clave. If he was lucky he’d escape with his runes intact, if he wasn’t he was going to be branded as a rogue and hunted like the Downworld-sympathizer version of a Circle member.

In any case and almost every scenario, one thing he wasn’t going to let happen was be cut off without a dime to his name. His inheritance was substantial as a Lightwood. Their family went back a thousand years, they’d have to be complete idiots to be penniless. And many things had been said of the Lightwoods over the years but idiots had never been among them.

Doing some quick math, Alec estimated he was currently in possession of a thirty-year-old mind in a twenty-five-year-old body. That meant that he had possession of all of his inheritances except for the accounts that became his when he either turned thirty-five or married. He found it entertaining, still, that Magnus was right about the Clave’s blind arrogance so often. It had never even _occurred_ to either of his deceased sets of grandparents to put clauses on their grandkids’ inheritances from them regarding marrying a Downworlder, only mundanes and other Nephilim, the former of which would lose them their final inheritance – which admittedly was the largest – and the latter that would release it into their control instead of being attached to the family wealth.

That people like Clary assumed Izzy’s clothes and shoes and jewelry and makeup collections were all gifts or purchased by their parents _or_ the Institute had never stopped being funny.

Because, yeah sure. _Maryse Lightwood_ was going to by her daughter designer mini-dresses. _That_ made more sense than Izzy doing her own shopping and having her own money.

Yes, all active Shadowhunters got paid. It was either that or supply literally _all_ of their material needs. Considering how negligent Jace was with things _he_ actually paid for, it kinda horrified Alec from an admin point of view if the Institute had to foot the bill. How much they got paid acted like any other military or law enforcement organization, based on a metric of active duty time served and rank.

Every time his parents left him in charge of the Institute, Alec got a temporary pay bump from a second in command to a commander’s rate. Jace made a team-lead’s salary. Izzy made more than Jace as their lead forensic tech but less than Alec as the defacto head of the institute or second.

And he was taking zero chances on having his assets – whether it was his substantial savings from more than ten years of active duty as a shadowhunter with only withdrawals for gifts and his clothes plus a book here or there, or his Lightwood/Trueblood inheritances – frozen or flat-out disappear because his mother didn’t approve of the choices he was going to make with his life.

Magnus had taught him more than affection and romantic love.

He’d also taught him how to manage money and more specifically wealth.

Which was basically what Alec spent the wee hours of the morning doing: drinking coffee, eating pancakes, and having discussion after discussion with bankers in Switzerland to arrange his accounts being moved from those originally set up by his parents when he turned eighteen to ones that he was guaranteed – up down and sideways – would never be touched or accessed in anyway except by him or detaching his personal investment portfolio from that of his family, and so on.

By nine a.m. he’d done everything he could do to keep his money from disappearing, not because it was the first thing he thought of, but because it was what he _could_ do to plan for the future – a future with Magnus – at that very moment.

By nine-oh-five he was outside the associate branch that his account manager had directed him to in New York, showing his mundane IDs and walking out fifteen minutes later with his new debit card and the branch manager all-but-kissing his ass for moving his accounts to their management.

Then he was hitting the Jewelry District.

After all, Magnus wasn’t wrong.

The ruby necklace on a tiny little chain _would_ look silly on him.

Enchanting his first purchase on his new account, according to the sales girl whose day it looked like he’d made barely a half-hour in, a twenty-six inch titanium “box” style chain to make it unbreakable and theft-proof should give him exactly the sort of excuse he needed to go see _Madam Dorothea_ at the auction house…and the sixteen inch antique platinum chain that the ruby necklace was no longer attached to, the pendant moved to his inside pocket that required his stele to open, should be a nice little payment for her services since the enchantments and nostalgia that made the ruby necklace so special to Magnus were in the stone and setting, not the chain.

Yeah, it was bold of him to wear it.

But considering the Latin inscription of “ _true love never dies_ ” and Alec had literally changed the world to save his beloved, he thought he was entitled.

Though with – hopefully – dates to plan for and nothing but mission and workout clothes in his closet except for a few gifts from Izzy and/or Jace, he decided he might as well kill the rest of the time he had before his date with Dot by padding his wardrobe with a couple of things he _just knew_ would make Magnus sit up and take notice.

At least Izzy wasn’t there to see him submit himself to the care of a personal shopper at one of her favorite places – Saks – since otherwise he’d _never_ hear the end of it.

As for getting the haul into the Institute without getting pounced by said-irritating-little-sister well, there were always deflection and invisibility runes for that, even if they were more often used to hide his weapons than the evidence of a shopping spree.

Which, honestly, was only happening because if he didn’t have _something_ to do until noon and he could swap his Cup card for Dot’s Cup card he was going to either go stark staring mad _or_ , and he wasn’t sure which was worse, blow everything and rush over to Magnus’s loft to throw himself on the currently suspicious and untrusting of Shadowhunters High Warlock of Brooklyn.

…

Dorothea “Dot” Rollins, a warlock dating back to just before the Salem Witch Trials, glanced up as minutes after she flicked her sign from “Closed” to “Open” for her half of the shop she shared with Jocelyn Fairchild, Shadowhunter-in-Hiding, when a tall drink of water walked in.

A moment later she was on high alert and ready to call for Jocelyn as she saw through the low-powered anti-mundane runes a clearly not-in-hiding active shadowhunter, guessing based on the darkness of the top of the Deflect Rune she could see on his neck, who was fully armed…and holding _shopping bags_?

That was a first even for a warlock as old as she was, she had to admit.

It wasn’t often – or ever – she’d seen a shadowhunter with a bow and quiver strapped to his back and hands overflowing with bags from, no she wasn’t seeing things those really _were_ from Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomindales, and a small one in an iconic blue color from Tiffany and Co.

She arched a brow as he gazed around the shop floor, clearly clocking and cataloging any and every exit and entrance or blocked line-of-sight he could make out, then turned and headed straight for her, not even blinking an eye at the build-up of warning magic in her free hand, the other resting lightly on the edge of the countertop – and the panic button that would alert Jocelyn and Luke if the werewolf was around.

“Truce,” he gave her a crooked, self-effacing grin that was too charming on a shadowhunter who’d already outlived the life expectancy of most of their kind if he really was the mid-twenties he looked and not prematurely aging from the stress of constant battle against demons. “I’m not here to bother you, promise. I need a couple of enchantments on a gift.”

“Well,” Dot flicked her wrist, dissipating the magic and propped her chin on her hand as he moved to stand on the other side of the counter, setting down all of his bags except for the Tiffany gift bag. “Color me intrigued. What can I do for you tall-dark-and-deadly?”

“Unbreakable and anti-theft enchantments to protect both this,” he unearthed a simple titanium box chain that must’ve set him back a pretty penny considering where he’d bought it. “And the heirloom pendant that I bought it for.”

“Any race issues I should know about?” Dot asked, already lifting out the chain from the box and moving away from the tarot cards and their velvet reading mat that were as much props as anything else and over to the blank oak worktop she preferred for enchantment work. Little of that she handled when Magnus was around but she wasn’t in any hurry to draw Magnus-levels of attention so… “Seelie, werewolf, vampire…?”

Since the Nephilim in New York were – as far as she was aware – unaware of her and her location it was a non-judgmental way to ask what she really wanted to know which was _how_ he’d known about her.

“Shadowhunter, actually.” He shrugged, completely unabashed to be buying jewelry – and in clearly a male style at that – and having it enchanted by a warlock for another of his kind. Oh, he _was_ interesting. “But my sister heard from a friend of a friend that if she wanted to keep this sort of thing private this is where she should come so,” he reached into his pocket and removed another necklace chain. 

This one was an antique, platinum at first glance without a spell to confirm which she sent at it a moment later and used to holding a pendant of significant power. More than adequate payment, and she told him so. He didn’t seem surprised.

“Okay then,” she shot him a teasing glance after she nimbly whisked the payment away and set it aside. “Have your secrets, shadowhunter. This will take a bit so, please,” she waved a hand airily around the shop. “Feel free to look around, see if anything else strikes your fancy in your splurging mood.”

Alec smiled at her dangerous and slow. “Oh, I will.”

And he did indeed.

By the time Dot lifted her head from her spellwork haze, he had a hip propped against the register counter, a stack of books and a single small figurine of an ebony cat with golden topaz and obsidian eyes next to him, and was idly playing with her tarot cards.

“Interest you in a reading, shadowhunter?” She asked as she lifted her arms over her head and letting the tensed-up muscles in her neck and shoulders from the delicate enchantment work throb and release.

“I might be interested in an interpretation.” Alec admitted, jerking his chin towards the three-card spread that was already laid out on the velvet pad where he’d found the cards.

Dot hummed under her breath, feeling pleased enough by the generous payment for the enchantments on the titanium chain that weren’t power-heavy but more fiddly to give him the reading for free in addition to the price of his impulse buys.

Handing over the necklace chain, she wasn’t offended when the shadowhunter immediately held it between his hands and put the enchantments to the test with his strength, appearing visibly pleased with her work when it failed to break and tucking it back in its gift box and into the tissue-stuffed blue bag.

“Past, present, future?” She double checked, then clicked her tongue when he nodded. “Boy trouble?” She hazarded, flicking a finger at the gift bag. The present – maybe present _s_ – was starting to make sense based on what she was getting off the cards.

“You could say that.” His face went guarded and inscrutable.

“Down boy, I’m not going to out you to your precious Clave.” She told him drily. “Though you might have to do that yourself. Four of Runes, The Warlock, Ace of Runes.” She rattled off. “There’s apathy, disillusionment, remorse, yearning,” she made a rolling “and so on” gesture with her hand. “In your past. Presently you’re in a state where you have all the skills and abilities you need to be successful in your current endeavor. Leading to a future state of new beginnings, new relationships, new romance, love, happiness, joy, and so on.” She smiled, sweeping the cards up and shuffling them back in the deck and setting it under the counter then moving over to ring up and wrap/bag his purchases. “I’d say that whatever you’re up to, keep it up lover boy. Cash or card?”

“Cash.”

…

Alone in his room after successfully sneaking his purchases back into his room and signing in from his “early patrol,” including the little black cat statuette for his nightstand that reminded him of Magnus, Alec strung the ruby pendant on the titanium chain and lifted it over his head, feeling something settle deep in himself as it in turn settled against his sternum.

Moving into the bathroom, he took the Cup card he’d easily palmed and replaced while Dot was busy with the chain, staring at it for a long moment, then he sliced open the tip of his finger with the edge of his old-fashioned straight razor. He liked the irony of it. That razor represented one of the only decent father-son memories he _had_. Now he was using it to fulfill his deal with – Magnus willing – his father-in-law.

In his blood he drew out the most powerful fire rune he knew.

He’d barely lifted his finger when the card self-immolated with a flash of white-hot flame, Alec lifting his arm to block his vision and was deeply gladdened that he’d thought to do it in his sink as within moments there was nothing left of what had once been the Mortal Cup but ash that he rinsed down the drain and a weight he’d only been peripherally aware of – Asmodeus’s attentive gaze drawn by the incomplete deal between them if he had to guess – lifted.

It was done.

Now he merely had to prevent a bloody war and woo his husband back.

You know.

Nothing world-shaking or anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	3. Chapter 3

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Three: Familiar Patterns**

Alec’s reputation worked very much in his favor as true to his memories, no one so much as blinked an eye at the idea of him waking up early and deciding to do a random unscheduled patrol rather than behave like a semi-normal non-workaholic and do something like have a cup of soothing tea or read or whatever when he found himself unable to rest and up before the sun.

That he came back and napped rather than heading straight to the head’s office for paperwork duty or to the training area for practice or the gym to workout out netted him a bit of a side-eye but more of a “are you feeling okay?” than a “what the fuck is wrong with you?” feeling behind it than anything.

Then once he was awake again and functional, hitting the mess hall for lunch/dinner depending on which shift a shadowhunter was on because demons tended to operate at night so therefore so did they, Jace wrangled him.

“Six murders of mundanes, drained of blood.” He dropped down on the mess hall table next to his _parabatai_ without even a hello or a good morning. Not that Alec didn’t feel him coming but still. _Manners, Jace_. “Only lead we have is it’s definitely not vampires and Izzy’s contacts are saying demon.”

Huh. Alec paused a moment mid-bite then continued on. That answered that question rather nicely.

It was the day – or evening now – before their failed mission inside Pandemonium.

The one that led to Clary Fray blazing a path of destruction – both good and bad – through their lives in a hundred different ways, most of them not good and some downright horrible, and the inevitable first meeting of Alec and Magnus.

Which, by necessity, would have to change.

Number one for avoiding outright war with Valentine was not allowing the Circle to get their hands on Jocelyn or letting them know Clary was even alive so…he’d have to do something about Clary’s impromptu introduction to the Shadow World.

Thankfully she’d been nostalgic enough over the years before she got de-runed – _fucking finally_ , Alec was feeling more than a _little_ resentful of everything and anyone that wasn’t Magnus at the moment, which meant not filtering his _issues_ with Clary through his standard “Jace’s beloved” filter especially since at the moment they’d never met – that he had a decent idea of what her schedule tomorrow looked like. Should be easy enough to side-track her. Or, you know, knock her out and stuff her in a shipping container to China.

These are options.

And, okay, maybe he was a _lot bit salty_ as Izzy would put it over how all of _her_ drama had impacted _his_ life, particularly given recent-to-him events in his life with _Magnus_ , but hey.

He’d already made a deal with a literal devil for ultimately extremely selfish reasons.

The only direction he could really go from here is up.

Or down into wholesale slaughter but considering just _how fucking many_ people had been involved in planning, arranging, and otherwise plotting Magnus’s murder he’d already fulfilled that part of his mental break, thanks.

Just more screams to fuel his nightmares, not like he hadn’t already had plenty.

“Do we have any locations of the demons or know what they’re doing with the blood?”

“Not yet,” Jace pouted – yes, pouted. Ah, the good old days when his _parabatai_ was still naïve and spoiled enough to pout. Believe it or not, Alec had actually _missed_ cocky Jace after the ball of pain and angst Clary and life in general had turned him into. “Should have a better idea by tomorrow afternoon once the tracking patrols I sent out come back with information.”

“We’ll talk more about it once you have the intel then.” Alec decided with a shrug and a thoughtful frown. “Maybe see what other news is floating around besides demons acting strange – even for demons.”

Jace just lifted his brows surprised, at a guess, that Alec hadn’t bitched about the patrols but with age and experience Alec wasn’t actually bothered by it.

If he remembered correctly, back in this time period he was still straining against his duties and responsibilities and being driven into crazed frustration by this siblings’ carefree attitude regarding the Clave and their rules as well as quietly resenting them for being able to flaunt their proclivities with Downworlders for Izzy and anything pretty and female for Jace that was accepted – if sighed over – by their parents because at least their _dalliances_ were with the “correct” gender.

Ah, the shitty-old-days of stuffing himself inside the world’s most restrictive closet.

He didn’t miss _that_ part of the past at all.

And he had zero intention of allowing it to continue – on his part anyway.

As a result Alec had used an Iratze on his palm that he hid with a pair of fingerless archery gloves to heal his cut finger since his general-healing Iratze on his left flank wasn’t close enough to a minor injury like a finger cut to register the wound needed healing.

More attention was the last thing he needed until he fully found his feet in the past and committed to a path forward beyond simply “save Magnus.”

Then Jace’s happiness at not fighting with Alec over the patrols took over and the blond devoted himself to clearing his plate of overdone steak, steamed vegetables, and rice.

One thing was certain, Alec decided as he made a face at his steak and doused it in steak sauce, he was going to have to talk to the cooks. There was eating for fuel and then there was just _bad_. Call him spoiled by his warlock husband, but he wasn’t going to torture his taste buds any more than he had to until he found himself back in the good graces of his beloved and enjoying meals that actually tasted of more than _bland_.

…

Alec was a weak, weak man.

He’d gotten through his day when he had a goal perfectly fine. He’d done the paperwork expected of him, kept Jace from running off before they had better intel on the current murder investigation, and kept himself from flat-out murdering Hodge. Though that last required him spending _I’m pissed, fuck off_ , levels of time in the training room either practicing with his weaponry or pummeling the shit out of a punching bag. He knew, logically, that Hodge had gotten a raw deal. He’d taken the blame for crimes not his own and been given a disproportional sentence on others that he _had_ done while with the Circle because he was a relative unknown without the power behind him of, for example, the Lightwood name. That didn’t help Alec get back to the mindset of regretting Hodge’s original death when another betrayal was so fresh and his feelings about traitors so open and raw and weeping rage. He’d calm back down eventually. At the moment however it was a struggle.

Hence the workout to burn his temper into exhaustion if possible and distract him if not.

At least he’d meant to spend time in the gym at some point soon anyway to reacquaint himself with his younger body.

All in all, it was about what he’d expected: just as strong and skilled as he was used to but far less flexible without using a rune.

Given that this version of him hadn’t spent five years with a wonderfully _bendy_ and inventive lover, and taken up yoga with Magnus as a result, he wasn’t all that surprised.

But now it was nearing midnight and rather than being tucked away in bed getting ready for everything to come tomorrow, here he was in the dim atmosphere and flashing lights of _Pandemonium_ all-but-praying for just a glimpse of beautiful Magnus Bane.

Leaving the Institute was ridiculously easy when you were the acting head with no one in house to answer to and the codes to override, delete, and/or alter any footage including anything he might want kept a secret.

Honestly, giving that sort of power to his _parents_ who were proven traitors to the Clave was nothing short of idiotic no matter how much political capital they had to leaverage.

Though it _did_ explain, to a point, why they were summoned so often back to Alicante and left him in charge more and more since he was eighteen to the point that they were figureheads who spent – at best – a weekend a month actually in New York providing the appearance of leadership. It was a punishment for them with the opportunity for him to prove himself worthy of the position his parents had bargained for. He only wished he’d known that _then_ and not now in hindsight but, meh. In the current situation he had bigger fish to fry than the fact that the Clave was trying to decide whether trusting actual traitors or their son with the New York Institute was the greater risk.

One that would rapidly be made when/if Valentine returned but depending on how things went that wasn’t his problem to deal with – not anymore.

He still didn’t quite remember getting dressed in a daze, slipping into the designer leather pants that were so tight around his ass and thighs they didn’t leave much to the imagination – honestly, just enough to preserve _some_ mystery which was as much a result of the compression underwear that was common for active shadowhunters to prefer as it was anything else – in black, a long-sleeved button down in black shot through with silver threads he left open to just above the top of the _amor_ necklace with sleeves rolled to his elbows, black boots with the red soles that Magnus used to insist on buying him for date night along with dress shoes from the same label, a leather belt with a matte black buckle, and his own leather jacket on top.

He’d been running his hands through his hair to tousle it like Magnus liked it, tiny dab of pomade and all like Magnus had shown him one day a couple months into their relationship, when he realized _what_ it was he was getting dressed for – and it wasn’t sleep or hunting.

Or at least not the sort of hunting he _should_ be preparing for.

Magnus would strongly object to being categorized as _prey_ but considering that Alec had been making plans to trap, charm, enchant, or ensnare him and his heart with every tool five years of a relationship had taught him the comparison wasn’t exactly faulty.

His beloved had pursued him once with a single-mindedness that had been sharply flattering to closet-case Alec.

Given what he knew of Magnus’s background and personal history, especially Camille, Alec felt it was _more_ than time for Magnus to be the one pursued, wooed, and spoiled with loving affection.

After all, as Alec had already proven to his with any luck future father-in-law, there wasn’t much of anything Alec _wouldn’t_ do for Magnus Bane.

And soon enough he’d – hopefully – be making that clear to his love.

Alec had been mentally chiding himself all the way to Pandemonium where his runes and lack of visible weapons had gotten him a smug – and knowing – look from the bouncers as he’d strode right up to the door and skipping the lengthy line. It wasn’t like it was a secret that many shadowhunters liked to walk on the wild side. On the contrary. As short-lived as they could be, it was almost expected. It was just that they weren’t supposed to _flaunt_ their indiscretions away from their perfect Nephilim spouses and families.

As long as it wasn’t an actual demon, the Clave tended to look the other way right up until it threatened to turn _scandalous_ or the shadowhunter started to appear to get something catching.

Like a conscience.

Or worse, angel forbid, _feelings_ other than superiority and contempt for the Downworld.

The Clave could talk all they wanted about the Circle being extremists, but they’d been content enough to allow Valentine to ride roughshod over the Downworld until he turned on _them_ and started killing his own.

Now as Alec sat at the bar opposite the VIP section, back to the bar and sipping at a Moscow mule he was flooded more than a little nostalgia over all the cocktails he’d tried before Magnus had run out of variations and about a dozen that Alec actually enjoyed – the first of which discovered had been the Moscow mule – and a dozen more that he’d tolerate when a beer or wine he liked wasn’t available.

His eyes, a “blazing blue” in the lights of the club as Magnus had told him once a little tipsily, tracked endlessly over the VIP and the dancefloor looking for an undercut – with or without flashy highlights in a variety of colors – a long, strong dancer’s body and glitter.

Between his own height, Magnus’s, and his love’s love of sparkle, he’d never had much trouble picking him out of a crowd unless Magnus was intentionally keeping a low profile or playing with glamors.

Knowing his love’s habits as well as he did, and with one eye on the time, Alec gave himself the time it would take to slowly finish his drink while fending off any requests – to dance or otherwise – shot his way in flirtatious words, glances, or body language of which there were _plenty_ in the half hour he watched the club with an ever-sinking feeling of disappointment.

Whatever – or as much as it made envy flare in his chest _whoever_ – Magnus was doing, it wasn’t happening here.

Setting aside his empty glass with a hundred dollar tip tucked under it for taking up space in the bartender’s section and blocking up the flow of drinks – if only a bit – while he was at it, he stood and turned to leave, making it almost all the way out the door before a flash of gold caught his eye, Alec turning almost as if he was a magnet being led towards a lodestone and the breath froze inside his chest.

 _Fuck_. There he was. And just as beautiful as the last time Alec had seen him.

The moment he’d died in his arms.

Alec dragged his thirsty gaze over his beloved in slow and thorough determination to remember him now like _this_ instead of how he’d been _before_ – too pale, blood darkening his lips instead of gloss, breath rattling in his chest from poison targeted specifically towards a son of Asmodeus, magic flickering weakly but unable to rise and fight – from the tips of his spike-covered boots in gold over pure white jeans, a golden belt, golden tunic made of silk so thin he could almost see Magnus’s darker-gold skin through it, the deep v of the neckline filled with the flash of copper and silver and gems, and up over the profile of that beautiful face. His cheekbone turned towards Alec was dusted with highlighter and a thin line of white crystals – _Swarovski’s_ he could almost _hear_ Magnus’s amused correction – that curved from the end of his cheekbone up to the point of his silver cat-eye liner. His eyes were done in silver and gold and white. Magnus must have been in a mood to _glow_ in the low lighting of his club.

The gold that had caught his eye had been the highlights in his hair and the dragon cuff on his ear.

 _Fuck_ but it took everything in him not to march right over to him like he did on his ill-fated first wedding day and pull him into a hungry kiss.

But as the buzz of his phone in his pocket liked to remind him, tomorrow was going to be one hell of a long day and he turned and ducked out the door.

Which was really too bad.

As had Alec taken but a _moment_ longer he would’ve seen Magnus turn, drawn by the sensation of _intent_ flowing his way though it was a _heated_ variety that spoke of sweat-slicked bodies on silken sheets and not that of bloodlust and battle, and catch just the _barest_ glimpse of a gorgeous face turning away from him with the flash of blue eyes and a silvery chain around their neck. From behind the view was fine enough that Magnus _almost_ didn’t regret not getting a clear look at the front: all tight, firm muscle under silk and leather with an ass that _begged_ for all sorts of depraved endeavors. Naturally however, one thing in _particular_ stood out even beyond the impression of sex-tousled curls and a body that didn’t quit.

The beautiful man who he would _swear_ had been eating him up with his eyes moments before was a _shadowhunter_ from the top of those lovely ebon curls to the bottoms of his Louboutin-shod feet.

 _Runes_ didn’t lie.

Though it was curious.

Why would a shadowhunter bold enough to ogle another male in an open setting like Magnus’s club choose to wear a _Deflect_ rune in such a visible area?

“Hmm.” Magnus hummed, tossing back his martini and turning away from “His” couch in the VIP lounge despite just arriving for a bit of distraction and/or fun. One moment and he was interested in other pursuits beside the carnal. He’d have to take a look at his last known accounting of the active shadowhunters in New York that the Downworlders kept on the Nephilim, more as a way to know who to avoid if possible based on others’ experiences than anything else. See if he could spot the lovely thing. Because there was just one question tingling at his mind now: “who are _you_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	4. Chapter 4

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Four: Unlikely Allies**

“One thing about you I _have_ always approved of,” the deep voice of his father-in-law woke Alec from a deep sleep.

Or perhaps he was still dreaming.

When one was dealing with a Prince of Hell, it was hard to say, though as Alec opened his eyes in the throne room of Asmodeus’s palace in Edom and felt no ill-effects from the poisonous-to-mortals air, he was willing to bet that this time it was the latter.

Asmodeus may have only ever spoken to Magnus this way before but, needless to say, things changed when Alec proved once again that he wasn’t just willing to _say_ he would do anything for his beloved, he _would_ do anything for him.

He loved Magnus so much he’d changed the world for him once, bringing together the shadowhunters and Downworlders in a true peace instead of the facsimile they’d had before.

With his death and Alec’s actions thereafter, he’d more than proven that _that_ hadn’t been a one-time show of devotion: he would do it and keep _on_ doing it until there was no more breath in his body.

But at the moment, his once – and maybe future – father-in-law was speaking and without the customary biting sarcasm Alec had grown used to coming from that quarter.

“…is your resolve.” Asmodeus finished the thought from where he lounged on his throne, Magnus’s twin to it sitting empty as Alec turned from where he woke in the palace and approached. In the dreamworld they both appeared their truest selves: Asmodeus with a set of broken and burning wings with a crown of sharpened barbs fashioned of hellfire steel on his brow but draped in elegant silks over leather-and-steel armor while Alec was in the leather and adamas enchanted armor from the Dark War with his bow and quiver slung across his back and the Consul’s ring on his right hand – and his heavily enchanted wedding ring that’d been left in the future on his left. “Once a decision is made you do not falter, you do not pause: you see it done and to the best of your capability. My regards.” Asmodeus tipped his head just _slightly_ forward in a motion that might as well be a full-on bow from the regal – and most powerful – Prince of Hell. “Even with all my knowledge of you and your feats I did not expect you to work so swiftly or so thoroughly in fulfilling your end of our agreement.”

“I know better than to try and play games with you of all demons.” Alec countered with an arch of a brow. “Nothing but Magnus’s own wish and word would keep me from him. I would not risk the consequences nor your wrath by failing to uphold our bargain.”

“That you are no fool, except when it comes to those you love, is also one of your brighter qualities.” Asmodeus noted drily, smirk well in place. “It is also one we share.” He gestured Alec to fully approach as he sat up from his indolence only stopping Alec with a raised palm when he was in arm’s reach.

It said quite a bit over the depths of their meeting of minds following Magnus’s original death that Alec actually did so and without a weapon – metaphorical or not as dreamworld aside, Asmodeus was more than powerful to still harm him without Magnus’s protections over him.

“You have returned and fulfilled your end of our agreement impeccably thus far, it is true.” Asmodeus said. “However, I know something of the trials you have yet to face if you wish to continue to save your love and my son from a world that would see him dead. To that end, I have a _gift_ for you that should you accept it, will help you _considerably_ in your charge.”

“What kind of gift?” Alec asked, danger sensors running wild at Asmodeus’s words even as logic told him that while there was likely a trap in whatever Asmodeus offered, it also wasn’t likely to _directly_ harm him due to their shared interest in keeping Magnus alive. And short of being summoned into the physical world – which Alec had no intention of ever doing again – _Alec_ was Asmodeus’s best tool for that particular task.

“The best kind,” Asmodeus’s smile was wicked and one he’d passed onto his son either through genetics or exposure, though Alec would never be able to know for sure which it was. “The sort that can lift you to the heavens or dash you into hell depending on how you use it: that of _knowledge_.”

“What kind of knowledge?” Alec pressed his luck, gaining himself a flash of amusement from those cat-like eyes.

Asmodeus after all, _did_ say that he appreciated that Alec wasn’t a fool except for those he loved.

And given what Alec now knew, that was a short list indeed.

“Oh a bit of this and a bit of that.” Asmodeus offered with infuriating vagueness. “Some from before my Fall and some from after. The past, the present, the future. A mixed bag really.”

Alec almost came on point from the mention of _before_ Asmodeus’s Fall. He knew what that meant. Knowledge from when Asmodeus was still one of the fiercest angelic warriors among the Host, right hand to Lucifer and Samael.

 _Runes_ , gifted from one who once used them in battle, the sort of edge a shadowhunter might need when going against his own in quite spectacular fashion.

Clary’s had been gifted to her by her blood connection to Ithuriel who was one of the lesser powered angels.

Runes from a former general of heaven…now _those_ were sure to pack a punch in a fight.

Though the knowledge that came from _after_ Asmodeus’s Fall wasn’t likely to be nearly so familiar or benign – to a shadowhunter – as that of angelic runes he wouldn’t find in any copy of the Grey Book or Book of the Covenant.

Magic, whatever the origin, was forbidden to be used by Nephilim with rare exceptions such as common spells like glamors that required little knowledge or power to use, or the sacred arts taught only to members of the Silent Brothers or Iron Sisters to the point that the only shadowhunters Alec had ever known or even heard of to actively use magic were Valentine and Johnathon Morganstern…and considering that they were already outlaws from the Clave, adding in magic use to the other charges was hardly going to make a difference.

“Well, beloved of my son?” Asmodeus gave him a rather _pointed_ reminder of why he was entertaining the spawn of one of his most self-righteous former-brothers in his palace, dreamworld or not. “What happened to your resolve that I think of so highly?”

“You can’t trap me that way.” Alec retorted drily with a wrinkle of his nose. “I’m not Jace. My ego doesn’t need constant stroking or I’ll fall into a ball of insecure anxiety. Your son did too good a job of teaching me what I’m worth. Nevertheless, if you give me your word on _Magnus_ that the knowledge you offer won’t harm him _or_ our potential relationship if I take it, I’ll accept your gift.”

“All a parent – a true parent – desires is for the health and happiness of their children.” Asmodeus told him sincerely. “What I have chosen to share with you will not negatively affect my son or your potential relationship. On the contrary. If used correctly it can only strengthen it.”

“Then I accept it, with gratitude and thanks, Lord Asmodeus.”

“I _do_ enjoy your new mind-frame from the future, young Alexander.” Asmodeus grinned. “Let us hope that Magnus finds your confidence as intriguing as he once did your shyness.”

Alec snorted, even as Asmodeus tapped him on the forehead with his pointer and middle fingers to gift him the promised knowledge.

As _if_ Alec was going to play it cool when he finally got to see Magnus again and not from a glimpse across a crowded club.

If he was _lucky_ he wouldn’t become a complete stuttering wreck of a human being but given how their first real introduction had gone and Asmodeus’s warning about fate liking patterns that were already set, he wasn’t going to count on it.

…

Knowing that he needed to keep a semi-low profile until the petition he’d filed the day before directly with the Clave Council – an ability and authorization he only possessed due to being the interim Head of the Institute while his parents were elsewhere – was either approved or denied, or far more likely he was called before them to explain the details and his reasoning, Alec returned to what he remembered of his normal routine for this time-period when he woke from his dream-meeting with Asmodeus.

Having to _thoroughly_ explain his reasoning was already a foregone conclusion and one that would need evidence backing it up for all that he was in excellent standing with the Clave at this point in his personal history. It wasn’t every day that an Heir petitioned for the Headship of both their family _and_ their Institute but it wasn’t without precedent either and unfortunately between his parents’ past with the Circle and his own spotless record as their second and Head pro-tem whenever they left New York over the last seven years, he had far more backing as far as reputations went than anyone would ever guess. Especially since at the moment he’d yet to either come out as gay or start dating a downworlder. His meeting with Asmodeus had only reiterated what he already knew: if he was going to keep Magnus safe he’d need more than just himself and Asmodeus or even Magnus’s many and various friends. He’d need the sort of clout that was less than the Consul – because he’d already seen to horrifying results what would happen if he rose to that seat with Magnus at his side – but more than a mere Second.

He’d need an Institute.

And at the moment, the current staff in New York was split between those loyal to his parents and those loyal to _him_ – and he’d need to weed out the former that contained the few spies from either Valentine or the Clave Council sent to keep an eye on New York and his parents alike.

As it was he had a “problem” list dozens of names long containing everything from bigots like Imogen Herondale to the Consul who was a secret member of the Circle all the way down to Circle sympathizers like Raj to handle.

All of which was before he got to the exceedingly imminent second rise of Valentine, his half-demon son, and his thugs.

The horrifying part was that for Alec of the two – Johnathon and Valentine – it was father and not son that’d be easier to track down and handle. The only place he _knew_ Johnathon would be was London in a few months when he’s due to kill Sebastian Verlac and take his place. And that was _if_ those events played out the same with how Alec was fucking shit up and trying to derail fate’s plan.

With that in mind, he turned the outline of plans over in his mind as he went for his morning run then went through an additional half-hour of one of the easier yoga routines Magnus taught him which wasn’t normally part of his routine at this point in time but given the expectation that active shadowhunters maintain a certain level of fitness wouldn’t raise any red flags either. Izzy might be the one most likely of their team to do exercises like yoga and pilates but both he and Jace have joined her at one time or another over the years. Usually in response to her nagging them but still. It wasn’t the first time he’d been seen bending himself into strange shapes or working on his flexibility.

Thanks to watching Clary struggle over and over trying to interpret the runes “gifted” to her by Ithuriel, Alec knew better than to try and force it but let Asmodeus’s gift sink into his mind until it made itself known and a run followed by yoga was perfect for that at least.

A shower and then he was eyeing himself in the mirror once more, turning over runes he’d added to himself in the years between _now_ and the _future-that-isn’t_.

For so long he’d let his own issues and the weight of his parents’ expectations weigh him down, keep him from becoming the shadowhunter and man he could have been all along. It took about a day for him to realize when Jace came to them that he _needed_ to excel as a warrior in a bone-deep way that Alec didn’t share. For him it’d always been about the Lightwood name and making others proud. Not a _need_ to be the best warrior of their generation that Michael Wayland (or really Valentine Morganstern) had literally tortured into Jace. He’d let him have that, taking a bit of a side-step when it came to combat and into a role as the protector and healer watching Jace’s back rather than the front-line brawler that Jace was.

His brother and _parabatai_ was uniquely talented, that was true.

Alec lost four out of five sword matches to Jace and that fifth often relied on Alec’s superior patience and strategy coming into play.

At the same time, Jace would _never_ be the archer or staff/spear fighter or dagger fighter that Alec was, let alone match his abilities in strategy. Jace was excellent at in-the-moment. Throw him into a fight and he’d come up swinging every time. Ask him to plan a mission or an assault and he’d go for the blunt force confrontation every time.

Alec had never used certain runes as a result, the ones that would increase his standard skills and amplify his personal talents in a way that would make him a fierce contender for Jace’s status as their greatest warrior on his own merits rather than through using their _parabatai_ bond for the same, borrowing Jace’s skills for his own as Jace did the same.

With that in mind, Alec picked up his _stele_ and chose the location for his new runes.

Over the right side of his collarbone he drew the rune for precision. He already possessed the accuracy rune on the back of his shoulder, but precision was a different thing. Accuracy assisted with, as it said, the accuracy of attacks. Precision carried a small but significant difference, making not only attacks but _all_ movement more precise from where Alec set his feet to how he handled his weapons.

Increasing the effect even more, he added the sure-striking rune just below his angelic power rune on his outer left forearm.

At the top of his left ribs under his pectoral he drew the flexibility rune, then the talent rune went on his sternum while he meditated on his former abilities in leadership and uniting the downworld. The rest he wanted to add would have to wait until he had Jace handy. Some were more effective or longer lasting if Jace applied them to begin with, not just activated them before a battle and others he wanted on empty spaces on his back. It was the one downside of runes: depending on how big one tended to make them, it didn’t take long to run out of room for them on places that could be easily accessed.

As he studied the new additions and planned where the others would go, several images flashed through his mind – but only one he recognized for all that he knew what all of them would do if he applied them.

Two in particular he was excited over: one that protected the mind from invasion or being read and another that protected the body from possession.

The last…he’d _seen_ what Heavenly Fire could do in physical form, even after it’d been siphoned into a sword by Clary.

In theory – or so his Asmodeus-given knowledge said – it exponentially increased the power of an angel or Nephilim based on their own innate power _and_ that of whoever applied it to them when used on a living being and not an inanimate object.

Huh.

There _was_ something to be said for the knowledge of a former angelic patron, even Ithuriel hadn’t told Clary _exactly_ what the Heavenly Fire rune did, only how she _should_ use it to contain Jace’s Heavenly Fire _issue_.

Sighing, Alec turned away from the mirror and got dressed. He had the unending administrative duties of an Institute head to get through, a mission to plan with his siblings – and ensure that it wasn’t an unsanctioned one like it was last time – and a redhead to divert and stuff into a closet somewhere where she would be out of the way and nowhere _near_ either Jace or Pandemonium. Oh. He blinked as a thought made itself known, another piece of knowledge popping up from Asmodeus.

And apparently another bit of shopping to do.

Leave it to the most powerful Prince of Hell to know where to find a rare enchanted weapon was just _sitting_ in an antique shop.

Apparently, Asmodeus wasn’t joking when he’d implied he’d help Alec because he wanted Magnus to be happy.

It was convincing _this_ time’s Magnus of that – a Magnus who’d never lived through having his powers stripped more than once or nearly died or had to see what Edom would become without Asmodeus to keep Lilith in line – that would be the problem.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	5. Chapter 5

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Five: Whatever It Takes**

“Another mundane drained of blood.” Jace reported when Alec had eaten breakfast and made his way to the Ops center where Jace was putting together the mission request and briefing that Alec would either approve and forward to the Clave or deny and make Jace gather more information before going forward. “That makes seven. We’ve tracked them to the area surrounding Greenpoint Textiles, there’s a mixed-use mudane/downworld club called _Pandemonium_ that they might be using as either a drop point or a hunting ground or both.”

“Do you know what kind of demon?” Alec asked, though he already knew.

“Ravener.” Jace brought up a series of security footage harvested from various places around the city. “Right now the shapeshifting bastard that we’ve managed to tie to the latest body looks like this,” he pulled up a picture of an elderly Asian man. “We can pick up its trail near Greenpoint and follow it back to either the buyer or its hive and get more information on what they’re after with these killings.”

“Alright,” Alec said after studying the briefing, raising an impressed brow. He didn’t know how he responded to Jace’s original request the first time around, it was buried under all of the _everything_ that came afterward, but he knew he’d had to reject his mission plan rather than approve it and send it on. This time, Jace had done the legwork – with help from Izzy more likely than not – and presented something he actually _could_ send to the Clave and not have them come down on them like ten tons of disapproval. “It’s a go. Add an addendum to this,” he held up the tablet in reference to the paperwork. “For a secondary team of three to provide backup and/or containment.” He shot Jace a _look_ when his _parabatai_ acted like he might protest. “We’re going into this half-blind. I’d rather have backup at hand rather than have to wait and end up in trouble because we followed the demon to a hive instead of a drop.”

“Okay…” Jace cocked his head to the side, then glanced around and came in close to prevent eavesdroppers as much as possible. “You feelin’ okay, Alec? I felt the burn of fresh runes earlier, and now…” He shrugged. “I expected more of a fight on this with so little evidence to go on.”

“I’m great, actually.” Alec told him, counting on Jace to be able to feel his sincerity through their bond. “Just made some decisions about how I want things to go from now on. Which means I’m going to have to let go a bit and count on you and Izzy to do your jobs without me always hovering and double-checking things.” He reached up and held onto Jace’s strong shoulder for a moment before letting go. “Think you two can handle that?”

“Yeah,” Jace beamed, delighted at the trust he was being given from his _parabatai_ and best friend. “Yeah, we can.”

“Good.” Alec lifted his brows and grinned then grabbed his tablet and headed off to his office. “I’ve got a couple errands in the city to run later, like making sure that the warlock who owns _Pandemonium_ doesn’t decide to try and fry us for possible trespassing, but I’ll be ready for our mission tonight.”

“Alright.” Jace blinked, not having thought of that angle. Yeah, that’d be a problem. Downworlders tended to not be _thrilled_ at having a bunch of shadowhunters wandering around their territories. “See you then, do you want me to put the secondary team together or…?”

“I’ll handle it, Jace.” Alec dismissed the offer. “That’s my job, just be ready to brief who I pick as well as Izzy later.”

“I’m on it.”

…

Alec knew he’d need to stake out the area around the Fairchild shop/apartment in the afternoon since he wasn’t certain of when Clary would be returning home from her entrance interview at the art school other than it’d taken place late enough in the day that she’d barely spoken to her mother and Luke before leaving again with Simon for his band's gig near _Pandemonium_ that put her in perfect position to run into Jace and end the night with her world imploding.

From what he’d pieced together over the years, it wasn’t just demons in _Pandemonium_ that would be a problem or keeping Clary under control.

Magnus distinctly recalled chasing off a pair of Circle members that in hindsight were the reason for the demons peddling blood – but no one but him and maybe Asmodeus was aware of that connection at this point in time or had any _idea_ of just how powerful and dangerous Valentine was even without the now-destroyed Mortal Cup.

Which was the main reason Alec insisted on the secondary team. He trusted Jace and Izzy to handle the demons, especially without Clary to get in the way, leaving him to hit the high ground in the club and watch for the Circle members. He trusted Magnus would run them off, his love’s caution keeping him from killing them outright along with him being – mostly – law-abiding, but…

That didn’t quite sit _right_ with Alec.

He may be willing to hide Clary away and keep her from leading the Circle right to her door, but he remembered the raids on the warlocks.

They only needed _one_ of the Circle members in custody to question.

What happened to the other…well.

Renegade Circle members still had a bounty on their heads even eighteen years later.

Alec had approximately _zero_ scruples over collecting if it meant keeping both Magnus and his siblings safe.

Given the Inquisitor’s vendetta against the Circle, she might even give him a commendation to go with the bounty if he killed a Circle member and wounded then captured a second.

Planning, however, as he knew all too well would only get him so far.

The Circle wasn’t to be underestimated, anymore than the bigotry engrained in the Nephilim over the last thousand years against the downworld could be. He’d been naïve enough once to think he’d stomped it out. Magnus had _died_ for that naivete. Over _Alec’s_ dead body would that happen again.

His first stop was to a Seelie tattoo artist he knew from the future. Two of the runes he’d been gifted by Asmodeus didn’t require a _stele_ or angelic blood to use, they were uncommon but powerful magical symbols. Specifically to prevent magical people or those with magical blood from being possessed or controlled and predated the Nephilim by thousands of years.

Jace would still need to place or activate a couple of other runes on him for Alec to get the best effect from them – and vise versa since there was _no_ chance he wanted to risk either Izzy or Jace being possessed or controlled again – but what he was comfortable knowing personally was different than what he wanted to share even with them.

Let them believe that Alec had simply been doing a deep-dive into his studies.

It wasn’t like that would be even out of character since at the moment he was considered to be entirely too serious and dutiful by his siblings.

It wasn’t like Raziel was going to come down from the Heavenly Realms to set them straight about the origin of those particular symbols and other than _Himself_ there wasn’t much of anyone around who could contradict him since it wasn’t like the leader of the Silent Brothers or the Iron Sisters went around talking about what was actually contained in the Book of the Covenant that wasn’t disseminated for common knowledge among the Nephilim via the Grey Book.

Imira was all too entertained to be putting a pair of known magical symbols on a shadowhunter and a carefully worded contract between the two of them plus payment meant that while his back stung and having his skull behind his ear tattooed with a tiny “self” symbol hurt like _hell_ he was protected and that was all he cared about at the moment.

First errand complete, Alec made his way to the antique shop that had a bracelet in stock he was eager to get his hands on.

The Alec from _before_ at this age might not be skilled with a double-bladed staff, but after five years of training with Magnus plus all the wars and battles between then and now, the Alec he was now was more than capable of being deadly with the favored weapon of the Unseelie Court, one specifically designed to counter the quarterstaves and swords of the Seelie.

“Excuse me,” Alec called over the shopkeeper – a mundane man old enough that he almost looked like he should also be on display among his jumble of wares – to the locked display case that through the dust and grime Alec had finally located the cuff bracelet Asmodeus had implanted knowledge of in his mind. While all his eyes saw was dull metal and a begrimed display, the enchantments on the bracelet almost _screamed_ out at him. “I’d like to see this bracelet please.”

“Bracelet?” The shopkeeper squinted at him after shuffling over with the keys. “Oh! That bracelet.” The old man chuckled as he slowly sorted through the keys, trying several and then trying several more as he searched for just the right one for the lock on the case. “No one has shown interest in that old thing since my grandfather brought it back from a buying trip in the Far East. Jakarta, I believe…” His voice dropped, muttering to himself as he finally located the correct key and undid the case. “Strange,” he decided at last as he picked up the metal circle. “With the style now, and how its changed over the years, I would have thought someone would have bought it long ago.”

Alec studied the bracelet intently, rubbing lightly at the grime on the design and hiding a smile at the sight of a Sumatran tiger in profile from whiskers to tail.

He didn’t need a diagnostic to tell him the enchantments were still strong. Between the feel of it and the way he’d been able to feel it calling from across the store they were still as strong as ever. It was if the weapons calling mechanism enchantments still worked that was the real question but with an old mundane shopkeeper rattling off what little he knew about the piece and keeping a rheumy eye on him this wasn’t the time or place to confirm that they worked.

If there was something he’d learned the hard way years ago, it was that with Asmodeus even when your goals aligned, it was best to trust but verify.

Alec wasn’t about to get caught unprepared because Asmodeus led him to a rare weapon that he couldn’t actually _use_.

“I’ll take it.” Alec told the elderly man, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. “How much?”

…

With nothing else to distract him – he’d already stretched things to the breaking point by spending the first block of time surveilling the Fairchild residence by cleaning and then testing out the weapon-release mechanism on the bracelet – Alec sent off a fire message to the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

To his love.

Warning that increased demonic activity had been registered in the Greenpoint area near his club and a squad would be sent out that night to investigate the activity.

It wasn’t _entirely_ a warning for everything that Alec knew what was to come but it’d have to do.

If nothing else, he could trust Magnus’s current distrust of shadowhunters to warn his people to be on the lookout – both for the demons _and_ them.

…

To his surprise when he finally spotted that copper head of hair striding down the street, Alec wasn’t filled with waves of resentment for all that her presence in his life had caused.

Because in the end, almost breaking Jace more than once or not, tearing his world apart or not, if it weren’t for Clary Fray, Alec had no guarantee he ever would’ve met Magnus and that? That was one thing Alec wouldn’t wish away for anything in any world.

That didn’t stop him from jumping down with every concealment rune he had or knew active on his body and slamming the edge of his new quarterstaff - the bracelet made of a strong titanium-gold alloy at a guess shifted into two weapons like Izzy's electrum bracelet: a quarterstaff and a double-bladed variation - into the side of her head with exactly the right amount of force to knock her out for hours but not cause brain damage.

It just meant he did it, along with stashing her and leaving a message for Jocelyn Fairchild and Luke Garroway, but without resentment eating away at him.

If she and Jace _were_ meant or destined or whatever, he was willing to bet that fate would find a way to unite them no matter how much he meddled.

What came after was up to them.

He had his own concerns.

…

“What _are_ some of these runes?” Jace wondered as he memorized the patterns Alec showed him before applying them with the practiced hand and perfect memorization of a field-rated shadowhunter. That Alec had even been willing to shave his chest hair to make it easier to place the one over his right pectoral – and did the left side as well so he wasn’t lopsided if Jace had to guess – that was one of the more complex runes Jace had ever _seen_ was nothing short of amazing. For _years_ Alec had been resistant against any sort of extra grooming or dressing well for reasons that Jace had pretended not to recognize.

Alec as far as he knew had never confided in _anyone_ about that part of him, not even Izzy for all that both of them already knew.

If Alec was _finally_ unwinding a bit and losing some of the fear that any step out of Robert and Maryse’s carefully drawn lines would result in being an utter failure, then Jace was ecstatic for him.

He just wished he knew what’d brought about the change beyond Alec suddenly waking up the day before with an attitude adjustment and sudden wealth of confidence that wasn’t some act or an appearance of bravado. No. Jace was his _parabatai_ , he knew it was the real thing.

Jace could feel it radiating out from their bond.

But that was Alec. Once he made a decision he stuck by it for better or worse. There wasn’t a more loyal _or_ stubborn shadowhunter in all of New York than Alec Lightwood.

Whatever was behind it, Jace trusted that Alec would tell him eventually.

In the meantime, he’d accept the benefits of it – like the mission that Alec had actually approved instead of dismissing thanks to lacking data or the new runes that Alec was sporting.

Much like the talent one over his sternum that despite Alec drawing himself Jace couldn’t help but retrace as soon as he was done with the others and starting on activating the runes for their mission that night. A rune that he should’ve been wearing all along. Jace talked a good game but even he knew who the real leader was of their squad. Alec had the most successful missions with the least casualties and collateral damage out of any squad leader in the States – and that was when he first took over their team when he was seventeen and Jace and Izzy were just starting out on the frontline at sixteen.

For nine years Alec had been keeping them safe, double-checking their mission reports, and basically covering their asses from one side of New York to the other.

It was about _damn time_ his brother started recognizing just how rare and special he was.

“The sort of thing that takes connections to find since they’ve fallen out of common use.” Alec told him absently. “Due to Clave disapproval over anything that treads too close to downworld. I’ll have to take you and Izzy out for the anti-possession and anti-mind control ones to be tattooed. The Clave might disapprove but there’s no _actual_ law about using them.” He winced as the skin around his new anti-possession tattoo pulled, then at the reminder reached over and activated his Iratze that took care of the scabbing and left behind a healed tattoo in a matter of moments for the small price of a burning sensation in the center of his back and over the actual healing rune.

“Woah.” Jace blinked then ran the pad of his thumb over the tattoo between Alec’s shoulder blades. “Without touching it, you’d never know that was a magical tat and not a rune.” He let out a soft whistle. “When you decide to step up you go big or go home, huh?”

“I’m a Lightwood.” Alec tossed a smirk over his shoulder as he rose when Jace tapped him to trade places and stripped off his own shirt, Alec getting to work on activating Jace’s runes. “I break noses and accept the consequences.”

“What’s the deal with the Clave?” Jace asked, voice low as Alec added a couple runes to his collection before getting to work on activating Jace’s normal mission set. “Are they going to cause problems over your parents being gone or something?”

“Or something.” Alec told him absently as he focused on the patterns he could draw in his sleep he’d traced them on Jace, himself, and/or Izzy over the years. The three of them were such a set team that only rarely did they work with others and with the _parabatai_ bond in place it made no sense to have others do rune-work on himself or Jace since their brother’s work would always be more effective or longer lasting. He debated a moment then admitted: “I applied for the family Headship as well as the Institute. Officially.”

Jace turned a goggle-eyed stare on his soul-brother, shocked down to his toes that Robert’s perfect soldier would _dare_ even think about something like that, let alone send out the official request.

“Shit.” He blurted out. “Did they kill someone?”

“Worse.” Alec grimaced, expression dead-serious. “They killed a _lot_ of someones. They were Circle, Jace. Cut a deal with the Clave while lesser-connected members like Hodge got severe sentences.”

“Oh _shit_.” Jace blinked as the pieces of the puzzle that was the Lightwoods’ treatment of their kids snapped into place. “ _Oh shit_. You’re serious. They really…”

“Yep.” Alec nodded shortly, then reached over and tossed Jace his shirt that the other shadowhunter pulled on absent-mindedly, having clearly short-circuited something at the notion of the paragons of obeying the Clave and Covenant Law had been in the Circle. “It’s a shit-show but I’m going to go through with it. I’m hoping we can keep it quiet while the process is in motion, hopefully avoid a full Clave hearing. But regardless: either I’ll be the Head of the Lightwoods or I’ll be disowned. Either way,” he stared down into Jace’s confused but growing resolved golden eyes. And looking at them he could _not_ understand how no one had ever realized just how _off_ it was that his eyes were that color. That it was because Jace was something _more_ than human, even among the Nephilim. “I’m done being the perfect solider and Lightwood Heir after what they’ve done and hid from us all our lives.”

Jace rocked on his heels a moment – if it weren’t for the feelings coming through their bond he’d think this was Izzy or someone else under a glamor not _Alec_ – then met Alec’s gaze head on.

“I’m really proud of you, Alec.” Jace held out his arm in wordless offer, grinning when Alec clasped arms with him, _parabatai_ to the end. “And I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	6. Chapter 6

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Six: Repeat – Rewind**

Waiting with his back to the street as the nondescript form that a demon was wearing wandered passed him, Alec felt a deep and strong sense of dejá vu.

It was eerie how _right_ Asmodeus was about the timeline, though he supposed that until someone went to find or use the Mortal Cup or his other changes started taking effect, things _would_ progress in the same basic way if it wasn’t directly impacted by him or the loss of the Cup.

Later things would diverge more and more if he understood the theory of this sort of time travel correctly but at the moment the ripples of change were still small and almost all of them controlled by Alec at this point.

He followed the appearance of the Asian man for a few moments before jumping up to the rooftops before he was seen. Just like clockwork. The demon was heading straight for _Pandemonium_.

“It’s going towards _Pandemonium_.” He lifted his hand to his ear piece that connected him to Underhill who was running the second team at his request. The two shadowhunters with him were solid fighters with level heads from what he remembered. Jake Nightshade and Lira Landsdown, both veterans that’d been working patrols with Underhill for years, another stable team like Alec’s that rarely was split up due to their efficacy and track record. “Underhill and Landsdown, I want you inside the club and falling in behind Jace and Isabelle as they track it in. I’m going up to see if I can spot the drop or their buyer.”

“On it.” Andrew Underhill’s voice came through the ear piece.

“The club’s rear entrance is too hard to get to.” Alec continued. “Nightshade go high and watch the front.”

“Will do.” The lazy drawl of the other ranged fighter – though Nightshade preferred crossbows – spoke of his Texan origins.

“Demon changed forms again.” Alec kept the other team informed as Jace and Izzy hit the pavement just beyond the entrance to _Pandemonium_ – and thank _fuck_ with no Clary Fray in sight. At least his temporary abduction of the redhead had solved one problem – and given Jocelyn a chance to get the fuck out of town while her ex-husband was still breathing. If she didn’t…at least he tried. “Brunette, black stilettos, black strippy dress over a purple mini-dress.”

“That’s magenta, Alec.” Izzy’s amused correction came over the line. “Not purple.”

“Whatever.” He snorted softly. “I’m up.” He reported as the throbbing bass of the club music hit his ears and he leapt lightly up into the rafters, tracking the dress and seeing where it stopped for his targets as he noted Underhill and Landsdown falling in to flank Jace and Izzy respectively. “I’ve got the buyers.” He reported as he spotted the most conspicuous job of being _inconspicuous_ he’d ever seen – and all without even bothering to cover up the glaring circle rune on their necks.

Readying his bow, he set a triple arrow to the string, breathing deep and steady even as the sight of Magnus heading straight for the Circle members filled him with nervous energy.

He made a slight adjustment as he remembered where he’d seen the blond before – though without the cheesy sunglasses – then _release_ and heard the sounds of Jace cuffing one demon while the others killed the rest with ease thanks to Izzy’s distraction.

“Gonna need an escort for one of the buyers.” Alec reported, cool as a cucumber as he jumped down to the groaning black man in his ridiculous Men-in-Black knockoff suit.

“What about the other?” Underhill asked even as they hauled the demon away first as the bigger flight risk.

“Body bag.”

“Who _are_ you?” Magnus asked as he watched the Tall-Dark-and-Handsome shadowhunter sling his bow back into place on his back then crouched to search the still-breathing Circle member for weapons before repeating the procedure on the corpse. And all before flipping the wounded renegade onto his belly, ignoring the cry of pain as the rough movement sent the strong shafts of the arrows burrowing deeper into muscle or bone. With arrows sticking out of his left shoulder and right thigh above his knee, _that_ one wasn’t going anywhere even before Handsome cuffed him.

“Sorry about that,” Alec stood and hauled the living Circle member onto his knees, needing to wait for that escort and body bag though the runes on him and the Circle members alike – plus he’d be willing to bet a glamor from Magnus as soon as his love saw what was happening – kept the mundanes from noticing the situation. “Circle members weren’t exactly an expected end to the night.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Magnus waved that off then snapped his fingers to clean up the blood that was pooling on the floor from the wounded asshole. The other, given that the archer had buried an arrow straight through his eye socket, wasn’t bleeding at all from the perfect shot. “I always appreciate a handsome man who’s willing to take out the trash.” He smiled charmingly, flicking one hand over his fringe. “I’m Magnus, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, though it would be hard to forget a face like _yours_ , Mister…?”

“Alec.” Alec smiled genuinely at his beloved, knowing that his face was probably – as Jace would put it – all gooey and gross. “I’m, I’m Alec.”

And _there_ was the stuttering.

Even seeing him alive and beautiful the night before hadn’t prepared him for having Magnus _here_ , now, and so breathtakingly gorgeous that asking Alec to _think_ was a bit of a tall order.

“Alec!” Jace’s shout easily carried across the club to those able to hear it – which weren’t many. Their runes were _made_ to hide them from even the most dangerous demons. Compared to that, most downworlders were little more than fluffy kittens. Though Magnus clearly heard it as he arched a brow and eyed the blond rushing towards them from the rear of the club with a lovely brunette wearing a _killer_ outfit in bold white that bared quite the banquet of skin to feast one’s eyes upon at his heels. “Are you okay?! What happened?”

“Circle.” Alec told his siblings after a quick but thorough visual scan of them in turn that showed ichor and ash on them but no wounds from what he could see. “Though I stand by not understanding what anyone would want with mundane blood so I’m hoping our new _friend_ here,” he reached down and ripped out the arrow from the man’s leg that Izzy promptly wrapped with a bandage from Jace’s jacket so he could walk. The other arrow could wait until he was in a cell. “Can fill in some blanks for us.”

“And him?” Jace tilted his head towards the body on the floor, knowing from how precise the shots were that the lethal wound wasn’t an accident.

“We only needed _one_ of them.” Alec shrugged. “And the bounty on rogue Circle members still is dead or alive.”

Izzy shared a _concerned_ look with Jace as Alec turned his attention back to Magnus. Worried over his cold-blooded attitude towards other humans if he had to guess, since it wasn’t _exactly_ out of the norm for him when up against demons. They hadn’t learned that lesson yet themselves. When it came to the Circle and Valentine’s madness, the depravities they committed were often _worse_ than what a demon would get up to and for far less reason than something as basic as survival.

No, the Circle was vicious and cruel because they _enjoyed_ it, and to Alec that made them just as bad as the demons they professed to hate, if not worse for having forsaken their humanity for bloodlust.

“Whatever you say, Alec.” Jace just shook his head at Izzy, already planning to talk about some of the changes he’d noticed and felt in Alec through their bond. “You’re the boss. Underhill already called for a team to bag and tag _that_.” He gestured towards the body. “Want us to handle the prisoner?”

“I’ll be right behind you.” Alec promised. “As soon as the clean-up crew gets here. After all,” he shot a smile at Magnus. “It wouldn’t be fair to force the owner of the club to babysit a body alone now would it?”

“My my, an officer _and_ a gentleman.” Magnus shot a flirtatious look at the frankly _gorgeous_ specimen of shadowhunter before him. He always _had_ been partial to black hair and blue eyes, and while he couldn’t say for sure in the lighting of the club, he’d be willing to venture that this one shared some relation to his old friend Will Herondale who – even for a Nephilim who tended towards often outrageous good looks – was a _very_ handsome man. “Don’t worry.” He told the blond who wasn’t bad looking himself if not in the same league as his…squad leader? Captain? How _were_ the shadowhunters labeling rank these days? “I’ll take _excellent_ care of your leader. He _did_ save me the bother of evicting a pair of Circle members and took out the trash at the same time. The Clave _does_ so frown on someone like me handling their clean-up for them.”

“Go on.” Alec manhandled the Circle member onto his feet and handed him off – hands bound with enchanted cuffs made to handle demons and downworlders let alone a shadowhunter behind his back – to his _parabatai_. “It’s not like _he’s_ going to be a danger to me.” He tilted his head towards the dead scum on the floor. “Try and tell the clean-up crew to hurry, will you?” He murmured to Izzy before she could follow the departing form of Jace as he muscled the living scum out of the club and paying no mind if he ran into a few obstacles on the way. “Somehow I don’t think Mister Bane wants to spend his night looking like _that_ ,” he gestured to the sexily dressed and made up form of his beloved. “Hanging out with a shadowhunter and a dead body.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Izzy teased him in a whisper just for the two of them. “He seems _more_ than willing to spend part of his night with _you_ at least big brother.”

“Shoo.” Alec swatted lightly at her as she went to ruffle his hair. “Keep Jace from killing the idiot before I can question him, yeah?”

“Of course, big brother. I can handle Jace, you make sure we don’t end up banned before I can enjoy this place on my off time rather than for a mission.” She beamed up at him then waited until she was behind Magnus to drag her eyes over the warlock and hold up an obnoxious thumbs-up when she scoped out his rear end – and saw him move closer now that the still-living body wasn’t between them any longer.

“So, _Alexander,_ ” Magnus lavished the name with lascivious intent as he snapped his fingers and conjured a pair of plush-topped stools for them to perch upon while they waited for the cooling body at their feet to be taken away. “Might I interest you in a drink?” He arched a curious brow. He wondered what sort Alexander would ask for it he loosened his shadowhunter dutifulness enough to say yes. A martini? Gin and tonic? Whiskey sour? People often told more than they knew about themselves in little ways like what sort of beverage that ordered at bars or coffeeshops. Though as with anything, such things were open to interpretation. “It’s the least I could do to reward such a…” he rolled his tongue over his teeth with a smile. _“Conscientious_ shadowhunter. I’ve always been a firm believer that good behavior ought to be rewarded.”

“Oh?” Alec felt his nerves settle a bit at Magnus’s banter. _This_ was something he knew how to handle. The moment his love came at him with actual _intent_ and not just flirting as easy as breathing, _then_ he’d be in trouble. In the meantime, he’d just enjoy a moment of reunion with his beloved. Even if only one of them knew that _that_ was what was underlying things. “And what if I was bad?” His grin was boyish and teasing. “Would you punish me?”

“Oh, Alexander.” Magnus chuckled darkly, eyes flashing. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to tease the big bad warlock?”

It was on the tip of Alec’s tongue to shoot back a salty “all my mother taught me about warlocks was that they’re filthy” but he held it in. The _last_ impression he wanted to make on Magnus was that of a resentful shadowhunter with mommy issues. Because _that_ was hot.

Alec merely smiled with a tilted of his head that came off as an agreement but not at the same time.

“I’ll take a white Russian if you’re still offering that drink.” He said instead of getting into his deep and abiding family dramas.

Accepting the dodge around a sensitive topic – being something _other_ than straight in a bigoted organization like the Clave must make for some interesting family issues, and that Alexander was flirting back was a rather large indicator that he was at least a little _bent_ aside from Magnus’s impeccable gaydar honed over his centuries of life – Magnus snapped his fingers and summoned the requested cocktail. Handing it over, he let their fingers brush, shooting his eyes up to meet that burning blue gaze at the actual _spark_ that arced between them at the touch. _Interesting_. It was rare for a shadowhunter’s energy to be so near the surface, let alone have it be open enough for a warlock to _feel_. That it was easily complementary to Magnus’s own…well.

Beautiful Alexander was _quite_ the distraction wrapped in a puzzle, though whether he could be anything more remained to be seen.

Sitting back on his own stool, allowing one leg to swing free as he waved his hand and summoned a fresh lemon drop from the bar, Magnus cocked his head as he studied the puzzle that was Alexander of the as-yet-unknown family name.

Though given that there must be _some_ relation to Magnus’s once dear friend Will, that narrowed things down a bit.

While the Herondales were oddly prolific at times – and more than a few “lost” branches were thriving in the Shadow World – as far as he knew there were none left of his friend’s direct descendants among the shadowhunters. Which left only a few options…and one more likely than others. Though _what_ Will’s sister Cecily ever saw in obnoxious Gabriel Lightwood, Magnus would never understand.

“Should I assume that the message from the Institute was your doing Commander,” Magnus made an educated guess. “Lightwood?”

There’d been a marked difference in how much and how often the Institute involved itself in downworlder affairs over the last five or so years. While they’d kept a very hands-off approach that was coldly indifferent rather than openly resentful, it was still a difference from an actual warning – and courtesy – of demonic activity and the accompanying shadowhunter patrols. Rumor had it that the original change occurred due to the elder Lightwoods spending more and more time in Alicante and turning day-to-day operations over to their heir.

Perhaps another change of the guard had come in an official fashion.

It _would_ allow the Lightwood heir to stop having to answer to his parents regarding what he did with what was nominally _their_ Institute, such as treating downworlders with a modicum of respect and courtesy.

Never in Magnus’s wildest dreams had he thought he would ever be sitting over a cooling body and sharing a pleasant drink with one of Gabriel’s descendants, let alone the son of Maryse Trueblood.

At his age, surprises never ceased to be a delight.

If one was wrapped in such attractive packaging as the beautiful Alexander, then all for the better.

“Yeah,” Alec admitted, taking a sip of his drink – knowing full well he was buying himself all kinds of brownie points with both the High Warlock of Brooklyn for that as well as with Magnus – at the implied show of trust. “Good guess.”

“Oh,” Magnus waved an airy hand before fiddling with his ear cuff in a tell that he had no idea Alec was well-versed in reading. “You _do_ rather look like one of your distant ancestors who was a good friend of mine. That combined with the warning being signed by a Commander A. Lightwood and it wasn’t much of a leap. Besides which,” he smirked. “Your sister shares _quite_ the resemblance to your mother in her younger years.”

Alec winced at that, knowing exactly _why_ Magnus knew what his mother looked like at Izzy’s age.

“I suppose you would know.” Alec agreed, looking over Magnus’s shoulder in surprise at the speed his clean-up crew had made in getting to the club across town. “Looks like we have company.” He rose and set down the mostly-drained drink, Magnus banishing it and the stool it rested on with a snap of his fingers as he watched Alexander put on _Command_ with an ease that spoke of long years of experience.

And consequently sent a bit of a shiver down Magnus’s spine.

It was no secret that many warlocks were drawn towards power, almost conditioned by their parentage to find power attractive. Watching as the confidence mingled with a playful shyness disappeared and left only compelling leadership behind with a straightening of spine and shoulders…well. It seemed Magnus’s competency kink was rearing its head forcing him to rein in his libido as he listened to Alexander become Commander Lightwood and direct his people through gathering up the body to take back to the Institute for autopsy and whatever trace evidence of its former whereabouts could be gleaned from it.

“Well,” Magnus spoke once they were again alone, none of the others even deigning to acknowledge him which was just fine with him as it allowed him plenty of time to get himself back under control and ogle Alexander at his leisure when normally such disrespect would irritate him. “It seems I must give you back to your people, Alexander.”

“So it seems.” Alec gave Magnus – not _his_ Magnus but so similar at times it was like a knife to the heart – a crooked smile after his people had left with the body. “Duty calls.”

“One of the constancies of shadowhunter life in my experience but,” he snapped his fingers conjuring a black business card between them and offering it with an expectant arch of his brow and a teasing twist to his lips. “Even Commanders have time for a _friendly_ drink every now and again.”

Alec’s smile widened as he reached out and plucked the card from between Magnus’s polished and beringed fingers. The card was thick, expensive cardstock in deep black. Embossed on the front in gold was simply his name _Magnus Bane_ in a calligraphy script. Then flipping it over he felt a flutter in his chest as he recognized the number in silver as his personal cell and not the one he gave out to clients or annoyances like the Clave.

“Here’s hoping.” Alec said, tucking the card away securely in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Until then, Mister Bane.”

“I await the moment with bated breath, Commander Lightwood.”

Huffing a bit of a laugh at that, Alec couldn’t pass up a wry comment shot back at the glittery warlock over his shoulder.

“I hope not. Given the Clave’s habits it might be weeks before things calm down long enough for me to steal away some time, even with such a lovely reward waiting for me for managing it.”

The faintest _hint_ of a blush that he made out thanks to his farsighted rune was _totally_ worth the shit he would get if word made it back to his siblings over him flirting with the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

 _Magnus_ was worth it.

Magnus was worth anything and everything he had to do to make sure he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	7. Chapter 7

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Seven: Heavenly Temptations**

Jocelyn Fairchild never forgot what it felt like to fear for her children.

Losing one of them to her own husband…it haunted her steps every day since word came of his failed Uprising, along with her parents.

She’d never believed that Valentine was dead. She knew him too well. Knew his madness was only equaled by his cunning.

When Clary was late coming home, she hadn’t thought much of it.

Just turning eighteen, becoming a legal adult, there was some rebellion expected to come after that.

Then Simon showed up, alone, looking for his best friend.

 _That_ was when she felt a deep, creeping dread starting to come over her. From the dark expression on Luke’s face, he was right there with her. And both of them only got worse when both Simon’s “find my friend” app on his phone couldn’t locate Clary’s cell and neither could Dot’s locator spell when Simon rushed back to the coffee shop to meet Luke’s partner Alaric there so the two of them could backtrack Clary’s most likely path home.

In private, without bubbly but mundane Simon around to hear or see something he shouldn’t, Jocelyn collapsed crying in Luke’s arms as he caressed her hair and tried to comfort her.

Neither of them _said_ it but they both were thinking the same thing: Valentine had found them at last.

Dot offered to go get Magnus but Jocelyn quickly refused. If Valentine _was_ watching them the last thing they needed was for him or his men to be led straight to the warlock who’d taken Clary’s memories and the dangerous information they contained. Instead, she sent Dot away with her effects to take refuge in one of her safe houses and wait for an all-clear from Jocelyn or Luke.

The warlock swore to keep trying locator spells and call immediately if she picked up anything on Clary.

In the end, Clary had found herself.

Whoever had taken her, it was a warning as clear as day. She’d been taken and hidden on an old iron container ship that blocked Dot’s spells, the water stymying the noses of werewolves in Luke and Alaric. They hadn’t taken Clary’s phone apparently, merely removing the battery to prevent the power from working and someone tracking the phone’s GPS.

It was all terrifying and in cases _odd_.

Clary hadn’t gotten a look at all at who’d taken her, the blow to her head so precise it had to have been done by a skilled and experienced attacker, but otherwise she was fine if cold from being locked up on a ship in the harbor for hours and hours.

Then Luke had started going through her things – all of which were intact – with her and…well.

That sinking feeling of dread had trebled.

Around every instance of a rune that had shown up and worked its way into Clary’s sketches and artwork as the block on her mind and memories weakened had been drawn the concentric pair of circles that was the Circle rune.

And on the first blank page after the carefully marked-up sketches was a simple message in a hand none of them recognized: _Regards, Your Father_.

An hour later after calls to Dot and Luke’s captain – the latter siting a family emergency for an unexpected need to take leave – and a protesting Clary was ushered into Luke’s SUV.

By dawn they were gone, a card taken from Dot’s tarot deck tucked into Jocelyn’s purse, without a word to another soul.

…

A portal via rune bought Alec twenty minutes unobserved by the others at the Institute to disappear from New York and gave him the time he needed to gather information and evidence he needed if he didn’t want to just kill everyone on his shit list. Which he _would_ do if it meant keeping Magnus safe. That wasn’t in question. However, it wasn’t his _first_ preference. He’d gotten his revenge on those involved in Magnus’s death already and as strange as it might seem there were _some_ crimes he wasn’t willing to kill over when the crime hadn’t been committed _yet_. So, while everyone in New York was tied up with the sudden reappearance of the Circle and Valentine was – hopefully – distracted by his missing men, Alec snatched what might be his only chance to search Wayland Manor in the countryside of Idris outside Alicante before his recent actions put him under the microscope in one way or another.

He’d been to Wayland Manor only once before after its destruction.

Jace had been making an attempt at exorcising personal demons and walked Alec all over the grounds, telling him stories of what passed as Valentine’s version of how to build the perfect shadowhunter, everything from beatings to broken bones to survival skills to killing his pets to toughen him up and teach him the fallacy of love.

Fuck, but Valentine really _was_ a bastard.

His son at least hadn’t had a shot. A mother who was terrified of his powers, a father that used him as an experiment, then being thrown away like trash for Lilith to torture until he could escape, Johnathon Morganstern had the deck stacked against him from the beginning. If Valentine was a mean, crazy bastard, then Johnathon had been doomed from the start.

Short of having someone snatch him away when he was still a baby, there really wasn’t any way Alec could think of to save the kid and then adult Johnathon _should_ have been.

He would _enjoy_ killing Valentine.

Johnathon on the other hand, for all that once he nearly killed Max, was just more collateral damage that Alec would have to clean up before it exploded and did more damage than even Valentine ever dreamed of.

He stepped out of the rune-cast portal inside the Wayland Manor wards, a dark smirk crossing his face at the ease of it as he focused on pulling the _parabatai_ bond over him, stuffing everything that was _Alec_ rather than _parabatai_ down and hiding it within himself under the calm of the bond.

Summoning wasn’t the only thing he’d picked up from Magnus over the years. Spending all his free time with one of the most powerful warlocks in the world and his collection of magical tomes and artifacts had side effects, especially for someone who loved to read like Alec. Jace might’ve mocked him for being an old man at times for preferring quiet nights in over going dancing or clubbing but as he was standing inside the foyer of Wayland Manor without tripping a single ward, clearly it had paid dividends.

There was _always_ a margin for error with wards.

One of them, due to the rarity of the _parabatai_ bond among shadowhunters, was that if a shadowhunter knew how to manipulate the bond they could fool wards keyed to specific people – like the Wayland Manor wards that still recognized Jace from Valentine’s alterations even fifteen years after the last time Jace had set foot on the land or inside the house.

Using the enhanced speed of his runes, Alec rushed into the furnished bedroom that he remembered from Jace’s description was his as a kid, quickly locating a pack.

He hadn’t left the Institute with the plan of hitting Wayland Manor for whatever evidence about the free Circle members or Valentine’s plans that he could find but he’d take the opportunities as they were presented.

Even if all he got from this trip was freeing Ithuriel from captivity and leveling the Manor so Valentine had one less place to hide he’d take it.

First he ran through the various rooms that showed signs of Valentine which were the master bedroom suite, a lavishly decorated study whose safe was a goldmine of information and documentation, and then after putting it off as long as he could excuse if only to himself and his own – mostly quiet these days – conscience he descended the stairs into the basement and used Clary’s overpowered Unlock rune to get through the locks and wards on the door into Ithuriel’s prison.

Or, as he stepped through and got his first look at a room that Jace had only briefly described, what might be better described as one of Valentine’s torture chambers from the angel restrained at wrist and ankle by shackles bolted to the solid stone flooring and a collar on a chain bolted to the wall – all made of enchanted steel – and surrounded by runes to the slab with a drain that looked like something out of a morgue to the various _parts_ of downworlders, and maybe even shadowhunters, held in display cases, jars filled with preservatives, or tanned and mounted like bugs on a pin board.

Alec swallowed harshly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

He’d come back for a reason that was utterly selfish.

The _longer_ he was back the more he realized that by saving Magnus, he might just manage to make a world that his love could be safe _in_ even without a shadowhunter on a leash. A leash made of love and devotion, but Alec wasn’t fooling himself. After summoning Asmodeus and everything he’d done as a result of his love for Magnus, he was as bound and owned as Ithuriel was but at least for him it was a binding ownership he’s _chosen_ instead of being forcibly trapped and enslaved.

For an angel that didn’t have _eyes_ , Alec certainly felt Ithuriel’s heavy regard upon him as he moved swiftly through the room collecting whatever passed for experiment notes, documentation, and even a few weapons that he’d rather take than risk Valentine reclaiming them from the ruins of the Manor.

“ _There is a safe, young one.”_ Ithuriel finally spoke, half aloud and half ringing in his mind, his angelic power even in his diminished state easily bypassing Alec’s rune that should’ve prevented it. Though he wasn’t trying to control Alec, just communicate which likely helped. _“You are an interesting one. A pure heart but a soul that wears my Fallen brother’s Mark.”_ Ithuriel cocked his head to the side as he continued to watch Alec on a level that had nothing to do with his missing golden eyes. _“The safe is there,”_ he pointed as best he could with a shackled arm, to the floor beneath Valentine’s desk where the chair had been before Alec moved it to get to the drawers using a combination of enhanced brute strength and the Unlocking rune to get to the information the desk held, tearing it apart to get to any hidden compartments.

Valentine might have studied magic for years but he was arrogant in a way that worked to Alec’s benefit.

When you’ve never been outplayed – except by Jocelyn, it was important to note – why would you take precautions in a place that’d never been discovered and no one would ever think to connect to you?

“Thanks.” Alec said cautiously, feeling more unsettled in the presence of Ithuriel – especially given the information the angel knew about him and his relationship to Asmodeus – than he’d been since he’d first met his father-in-law. “If you can see Asmodeus’s Mark, why are you helping me?” He felt almost compelled to ask.

Trying several versions of unlocking runes before hitting on the winning combination of Clary’s rune using blood instead of his stele – _yay_ , he was so glad that this place was going to be destroyed by freeing Ithuriel, though he’d have to hit it with his most powerful fire rune on the way out to help things along and get rid of his blood – he arched his brows at what he found inside the safe. With hands so careful you’d think he was handling either a newborn child or a bomb, he took out the several latched cases about the size to fit a couple daggers or a mundane handgun as well as an enchanted bag that he recognized. And he should. It was standard Shadow World gear for holding large amounts of anything from food to weapons to other supplies to – he took a look inside and smiled – bars of precious metals.

Ithuriel had told him where to find Valentine’s get-away fund.

That was awesome on _so_ many levels.

Not having time to do more than peek at what was in the cases, he found that two of the half-dozen contained various vials that would fit in Magnus’s apothecary – likely rare ingredients or poisons or both – another that was precisely labels vials of blood, one with jewelry, one with actual daggers, and the last that had a mundane injector already loaded surrounded with foam cushioning.

Whatever _that_ was, Valentine was taking no chances on it being damaged, that was for sure.

 _“I helped you because I know you are here to free me.”_ Ithuriel spoke while Alec went through the contents of the safe. _“I see your heart, Alexander Lightwood-Bane. You’re a good man. With enough time and opportunity, you might yet grow to be a great one. My brother was ever known for his loyalty. In the end it destroyed him. I would see that yours does not destroy you. Loyalty. Resolve. A pure heart. There are worse traits that could be claimed by a leader of men, Alexander. Nor does wearing the Mark of a Prince of Hell make you an evil man. Merely one that is willing to sacrifice to save his own. I am the Angel of Sacrifice and so I honor what you have done – and what you have yet to do.”_ He nodded towards the last case as Alec tucked the rest away in the expanded/lightened bag with the bars of gold, platinum, and silver. _“And you will need that to do it.”_

“What is it?” Alec asked, picking up the injector in its opened case as his rose with the bags – one of things and the other of paperwork – in his other hand. “One of Valentine’s experiments?”

 _“One of the first.”_ Ithuriel told him. _“A serum derived of my blood. But…”_

“Pure angelic blood can’t be tolerated except in tiny amounts, even by Nephilim.” Alec finished the thought when Ithuriel’s pause prompted him. “Jace and Clary’s mothers both had to be fed it in tiny amounts with their food over a course of months for them to gain the strength that they have, and even that’s a fraction of what an actual angel like yourself can do in full power.”

“ _Correct.”_ Ithuriel shot him a faint smile. _“There were many tests. Many failures before Valentine devised a method that somewhat worked. And even that was not what he wished it to be. Still, he never stopped searching for a way to imbue adult shadowhunters with angelic power and have it not rip them apart.”_ His smile turned darkly satisfied, a reminder that Ithuriel for all that he was weakened was still a warrior. _“I refused to give him the trick of it anymore than I would give him any other information he tried to pry from me.”_ He pointed to the Heavenly Fire rune he could feel even through the bindings and his blindness that nearly called to him across the room. _“I know not how you came to know that Rune, Alexander, but it is the answer to a question that has long driven Valentine to madness.”_

“Why do you think I need your blood?” Alec frowned, completely spun around by the idea that an angel, even one known for his merciful nature, would want someone marked by Asmodeus and the blood on his hands and soul to become stronger. Unless it was a deceptive method of getting him to commit suicide anyway.

 _“I can see your resolve as easily as I see my brother’s Mark.”_ Ithuriel told him as amused as he could be for still being bound. Not that he could blame the young one for the delay. Alexander was marked with unearthly knowledge, the sort bestowed upon a mortal that was both blessing and curse. He would be very surprised if Alexander was not well aware that to free Ithuriel was to kill him and to kill him was to bring down the Manor around them. _“If you mean to destroy Valentine and the evil he represents, you must needs destroy his wicked fruit as well. Johnathon Morganstern is_ strong _, rich with demonic blood and Nephilim power, raised to be a fighter without parallel by Lilith. What Valentine cast off,_ She _twisted into a general of great skill. You will need to be more than you are if you wish to defeat him.”_

“What will it do to me?” Alec asked softly, setting down the bags and picking up the injector at Ithuriel’s expectant look. “My love is a warlock this won’t…” He distinctly remembered the issues surrounding demonic blood and Izzy’s run-in with Heavenly Fire. There was _no way_ he’d take Ithuriel’s advice at the risk of never being able to kiss his once-husband again.

 _“It is hard to say.”_ Ithuriel admitted. _“It will not make you into an angel and with your rune to channel it, the side effects I can feel your worry over for your beloved should not occur. You will be one of my Nephilim children. Like Jace, who is always afraid under his bravado. Like Clarissa, who is bold and rash but naïve. Perhaps you will develop powers of the like that they still do not realize they possess. Perhaps not. But you_ will _gain the enhanced strength, speed, agility, and so on that is greater than the most be-runed, talented shadowhunter. As Johnathon, David, and Abigail were when they first drank of the Cup before its power was diluted through many subsequent generations. As all first generation shadowhunters are.”_

Alec looked away from the temptation in the form of the injector and up at the angel watching him with that same head-tilted stance despite being quite literally on his knees.

“No.” He said, that much-vaunted resolve of his reverberating through every inch of him as he put the injector back in the case and latched it shut with a fatalistic _click_. “I’ll do what I must but I’ll do it _my_ way. And take whatever consequences come after.”

Taking the injector he tossed it through the ward-runes so that it clattered to the stone floor in the center of what would be the blast radius from Ithuriel’s death, then he followed it with a seraph’s blade.

“Its name is Ithuriel.” Alec told him, as the angel watched him with an expression of bemusement as he picked his haul from the Manor back up and hoisted them over his shoulder, casting the rune-portal with his stele then sending off a barrage of fire-runes at the remnants of his blood under the rubble from the desk. “If you want your freedom, free yourself. Don’t ask me to kill you or change myself to suit you. I’ve committed a lot of sins and will likely have more on my soul before I’m done but that?” He shook his head as Ithuriel picked up the seraph blade and activated it with a whisper of his own name, already angling it towards his heart. “That won’t be one of them.”

And he stepped through the swirling vortex, leaving the explosion of heavenly grace and fire behind him, and out into the sheltering trees of Battery Park outside the Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that warning about Dark Alec up in the tags...yeah...
> 
> Chapter Content Warning for Torture.

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Eight: Descent**

He’d been gone a little longer than planned but with the chaos of the two prisoners and the apprehension of a Circle member and the death of the other he hoped it wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Drawing concealment runes on the bags, he slung them onto his back and braced himself for the long night and early morning to come, already knowing that he wasn’t likely to see the inside of his eyelids for hours – or even a day or more – yet depending on what was discovered from the prisoners and the Clave Council’s reaction to the news that the Circle wasn’t _nearly_ as gone as they’d been pretending for the last eighteen years.

…

Alec strode down to the containment cells in the basement of the Institute after he’d dropped off his concealed bags in his office. He’d been delayed by reviewing the quick-and-dirty versions of the mission reports before sending notice via fire message directly to the Inquisitor’s office – he might hate Imogen Herondale for the threat she posed to Magnus and all the downworld with her bigotry but when it came to taking down the Circle he had no better ally, a balancing act he’d have to manage with quite a few members of the Clave – that they had a Circle member named Pangborn in custody. At least according to his fingerprints that’d been run through the system by Izzy before she’d headed off to autopsy the dead Circle member anyway. Prints lifted off the body named the blond as Markstrom.

The pair were in the known “missing” lists of Circle members so at least he wouldn’t be brought up on a murder charge but would be netting two bounties.

Not bad for a night’s work.

Alec ignored the sudden warming sensation of the _Amor_ pendent hidden under his shirt against his skin as he came near the demon held in the cell to his right. Good to know that moving it to a new chain – with different enchantments on it – hadn’t messed up the spellwork on the ruby. Not that he really thought it had but still. When it hadn’t alerted in the club he’d wondered but he simply must not have gotten close enough to one of the demons for the gem to register them as a threat – or, and it was entirely likely, that he was so focused on Magnus’s nearness that _he_ didn’t register its warning. He met Jace and Underhill across the hall from the containment cells, both coming to attention at his entrance with Raj on his heels holding a tablet. 

Alec wouldn’t miss Raj’s bigoted ass when he had control of the Institute and was able to transfer him out, but he _was_ a decent admin. With Jace being allergic to paperwork and Izzy having more than enough to handle on her end as their forensics expert and running their labs, he’d have to replace Raj as soon as possible if he didn’t want to be buried under paperwork. At least he already knew from the future-that-was that Underhill would make an excellent head of security which was currently Alec’s title along with being the Institute Second. Jace taking over Ops from Underhill would handle that bit of reshuffling but still left him without an admin…hmm.

He’d figure it out.

He’d have to.

“What’d we get from the demon?” He asked Jace, already knowing that no one per his order had interrogated Pangborn or done anything with him at all other than making sure he wouldn’t bleed out.

“Not much,” Jace sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his report. 

He’d been getting weird feelings from their bond for the last couple days and he didn’t know what to make of it. Except earlier. When Alec had been around that warlock. _Those_ Jace was all too familiar with on a personal basis, though never coming from Alec unless his _parabatai_ was having a bit of private time and even then it was usually followed with a rush of shame that made Jace want to beat the shit out of every asshole in the Clave. He didn’t really _get_ why Alec was interested in the warlock with all the makeup and glitter and everything but hey. If that was what Alec was into at least he was _finally_ becoming all right with being _into_ someone.

Until tonight, Jace was half-convinced that Alec would use his “love” for Jace to hide behind for the rest of his life until he let Maryse nag him into a “proper” arranged marriage where everything that made Alec, _Alec_ , would slowly smother and die.

“The demon confirmed that the blood was for Valentine, probably one of his sick experiments.” Jace continued. “The drop was just that: a drop. Other than the news that in the last eighteen years Valentine has apparently gone from slaughtering downworlders to being willing to ally with them there’s not really anything there.”

“Raj, prepare the video footage and transcript for the report to the Inquisitor’s office.” Alec ordered, Raj already nodding in acknowledgment as he worked on his tablet. “Keep an eye on the demon, we’ll wait to see if they want to send their own team to interrogate it before we kill it. Underhill,” he turned to his head of Operations. “Collate the mission and patrol reports from tonight and get any needed clarifications. I dictated mine, Raj will have the hardcopy for you. We want _everything_ in order when we hear back from the Inquisitor.” He rubbed one hand over his face then grimaced, reaching for his stele to activate his stamina and caffeine – or energy depending on who you asked – runes. “I don’t want to rush Izzy but any preliminary reports she can have ready by the time they get back to us will be good to have as well.”

“What about me?” Jace asked as soon as Alec dismissed Raj and Underhill to do their jobs and was tracing over his runes for a pick-me-up.

“Where else?” Alec shot him a crooked smile. “You’re with me. Let’s go see if we can crack a big bad Circle member before the Inquisitor sends word or worse – comes in person.”

“Why are you so certain that she’d going to care?” Jace asked, tilting his head to study his _parabatai_. Because Alec _was_ certain. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his soul-brother that the Inquisitor’s office, notoriously both stringent and unpredictable, was going to be interested in these prisoners.

“Her son and daughter-in-law were Circle members.” Alec answered, shooting Jace a look that his brother couldn’t quite decipher. “Both of them died – horribly – as well as their son who was supposedly ripped from his mother’s womb. Inquisitor Herondale _hates_ Valentine with a depth that can’t be understated. She’ll come.”

“Okayyyy then.” Jace drawled, blinking. Well. That was informative and awful all at the same time. “Let’s see what our new friend has to say before she gets her claws on him then, yeah?”

…

_“Jace, when we go in there I need you to be calm. Stoic. Don’t react to anything he or I say or do…”_

At first, Jace was confused as hell over Alec’s last-minute instructions.

It was _Alec_.

What was his _parabatai_ so worried about that he’d warn Jace to keep his cool?

The observation cameras were on, Pangborn was roughly bandaged and bound to a chair, and Alec simply stood in front of the Circle member who glared at both of them with unrelenting ire as Jace crossed his arms and leaned back against the door to the cell.

Alec read off basic stats on the guy from the tablet, including crimes he’d been accused of by both the Clave and the known former-Circle members who’d exchanged information for lessened sentences.

Including, come to find out earlier that day, Jace’s adoptive parents in the Lightwoods.

Information that Jace was about ninety percent certain was the reason behind Alec’s weird moods and take-charge behavior over the last couple days.

Like the one Jace was watching play out in front of him as Alec finished with the intro rituals and got to the actual point of the interrogation and it was like a switch had been flipped and the calm Institute Head was swapped for the hardest interrogator Jace had ever seen work in person.

Then…then he got it.

It was one of the worst kept secrets in the Shadow World that every shadowhunter had a dark side. Like the Princes of Hell were former angels, angels and their “children” had tempers and foibles and imperfections. Especially the ones on the front lines.

Being unable – or unwilling – to control their darker impulses was one of the reasons the Circle was so harshly condemned.

After all: the descent into hell is easy.

And it looked like Jace’s _parabatai_ had found an outlet for _his_ darker impulses by expelling all that banked rage towards their parents onto their _old friends_ in the Circle.

Maybe not the best reaction to learning that sort of thing but Jace was raised by a psycho – in retrospect – so what did he know?

“What does Valentine want with mundane blood?” Alec asked, going through the motions even though he knew that without _incentive_ there was no way Pangborn was going to tell him anything.

Pangborn scoffed, staring up at the kid – Maryse and Robert’s brat from the look of him – in derision.

“I’ve endured worse than a couple arrow wounds, _boy_.” He sneered, spitting pink blood-tinged saliva at the brat’s scuffed shadowhunter-standard black boots. “I’m not gonna tell you a fucking thing.”

“You’re _inflicted_ worse.” Alec corrected in an – if he’d only known it – eerie echo of his love’s own conversation with Pangborn from _before_. Reaching into his pocket, he tossed the broken – shattered by another arrow – sunglasses Pangborn’s counterpart had been wearing when Alec killed him onto the floor in front of Pangborn’s feet then retrieved his _stele_. “You’ve tortured innocents. Killed children. Even turned on your own people for your _master’s_ mad crusade.” Alec’s voice remained calm and smooth. He might as well have been talking about the weather report than Pangborn’s laundry list of sins which was _far_ more unnerving to both the Circle scum and his own _parabatai_ – as he could tell through their bond – than if he’d yelled and screamed and demanded answers. He twirled his _stele_ through his fingers, a wordless threat. “I kill monsters. Like your friend. Never bothered with torture before, or physical threats, but,” he clucked his tongue a small smile playing over his mouth. “There’s a first time for everything. Might take me a couple tries to get it right. The _Agony_ rune isn’t something you practice every day after all.”

At that Pangborn’s eyes shot wide in surprise, shock – though to his credit it was kept internal – ricocheting through Jace and Alec’s _parabatai_ bond.

And for good reason.

The _Agony_ rune was a “interrogation” technique that was rarely used even by the Inquisitor’s office. It caused massive physical, mental, and emotional pain but let no _actual_ damage behind. No _physical_ damage anyway. The nightmares, paranoia, and other symptoms of PTSD that often followed those who’d had the rune used on them and not been summarily executed afterward were very real and very damaging.

As Alec knew better than anyone from an outsider’s perspective. It took _months_ for Magnus to recover from Azazel’s little _trick_ of soul-swapping that’d forced Magnus to endure Valentine’s torture – including use of the rune – at the hands of Inquisitor Herondale. Said torture – and the video of it – being how Alec knew about the rune at all, though it was knowledge he desperately wished he didn’t have for that same reason.

“You won’t use it,” Pangborn relocated his balls – and bravado – with a furious look at Markstrom’s shattered sunglasses. They only had him for the Clave to question thanks to the kid’s overconfidence and shit aim that cost him his partner. They _needed_ him alive or that Herondale hag would have _their_ balls in turn. “You’re too _soft_ with your cushy Clave job and sanctioned kills. You don’t have what it takes to force me to talk, _boy_.”

Sighing almost inaudibly, Alec reached out with the speed that made him a near incomparable archer and grabbed hold of Pangborn’s wounded shoulder, digging one strong thumb into the entry wound and _grinding_ as his iron-hard grasp kept the bound man from bucking him off as he howled in pain.

Alec’s face remained just as stoic – though he felt as much as saw Jace’s flinch out of the corner of his eye – as his voice remained calm and unmoved.

“I won’t ask again.” Alec warned as he finally removed his hand, wiping the blood on his thumb from the wound reopening and turning the gauze of the bandage bright red on Pangborn’s cheap suit shirt. “What does Valentine want with mundane blood?”

He wasn’t going to bother asking about the Ravener demons. They were bottom-feeders, barely intelligent enough to pull off killing a mundane, collecting the blood, and delivering it to Valenting’s lackeys – and even that they hadn’t managed to do without interesting both the NYPD and the Institute. Of the demons capable of passing – however bad at it they were – as human and interacting with them, the Raveners were the lowest tier around, only better than the true bottom-feeders of the demonic realms by being able to shapeshift into humans rather than staying stuck in their demonic forms.

They were _definitely_ dumb enough to make a deal with a madman who wants their kind extinguished entirely and they had the demon to question about that bit.

It was Valentine’s operation and plans they needed intel on, and Pangborn was the only supply at the moment.

Which, really, if he thought _Alec_ was bad, once Imogen or her goon squad arrived, he was in for a whole new world of hurt.

“I don’t _know_.” Pangborn managed to get out once he caught his breath. He was starting to understand – from the cold look in those icy blue eyes to the near monotone of his voice – just how _severely_ he’d misjudged the Lightwood brat. And part of that was understanding that he _hadn’t_ missed when he’d killed Markstrom. He’d killed him. Intentionally and in cold blood. Because of the Circle rune on his neck. _Fucking hell_. What kind of creature had Maryse and Robert _raised_? “He does all kinds of experiments. On mundanes. On downworld scum. He could’ve wanted it for anything.”

“Valentine is experimenting on downworlders?” That pinged a memory or two. Something about a _zoo_. Oh fucking hell… Alec couldn’t believe it took him this long to remember that. Though it was five years and a lot of trauma since Jace filled him in on that bit of Valentine’s operation so he thought he was allowed to be a bit slow on the uptake. “How?”

Pangborn set his jaw and glared, already hating himself for the little bit he’d told.

Rolling his eyes, Alec didn’t even bother with the sigh this time before reaching out with his _stele_ and sketching the Agony rune on Pangborn’s arm.

The screams echoed in the corridor and up the stairs until they hit the silencing wards, Jace closing his eyes and focusing on tuning them out as the man cried and screamed while the rune worked, worry digging deep into his heart and mind for his brother.

Alec wasn’t like this.

Not so cold-blooded.

Not…merciless.

If anything, Alec his one of the most _merciful_ shadowhunters Jace knew. He didn’t taunt. He didn’t show off. He just got the job done and put demons out of their misery. Alec was _good_ down to the bone. Jace had thought this recent change was good but…what had it _done_ to Alec for him to just be… _zen_ in the sight of a man in so much pain?

After having _inflicted_ that pain?

What was _wrong_ with him?

And what could Jace do to fix it?

…

“Lindsey,” Alec tagged one of the admin Nephilim that specialized in keeping the Institutes all over the world running while active shadowhunters were on the front lines, doing everything from working in the kitchens all the way up to serving as special advisors on Covenant Law to the Clave Council, as he and Jace left the cells for his office. He knew from what he was feeling from Jace that they were about to have a _serious talk_ about the changes Jace would have to be a total idiot to miss. It was only that Jace had been in the interrogation with him and Izzy wasn’t that he was spared his sister being involved as well. “Have a medic – with two guards – go down to take care of Pangborn’s wounds. I don’t want him to die of infection before the Inquisitor’s office decides what to do with him.”

The blond admin nodded, already typing an order on her tablet to alert the infirmary of the Head’s request.

“Then have,” he thought a moment. “Any of the completed reports on what we’ve found regarding either Pangborn or his partner in the mundane servers sent to my office computer. Any message from the Clave is to come straight to me, especially from the Inquisitor’s office.”

“Yes, sir.” Lindsey nodded, then frowned. “What about the interrogation transcript?”

“I’ll run it.” Alec dismissed the need to have lower-security personnel on the task. “That’ll be all.”

Jace didn’t wonder have having Alec restricting the interrogation to high security and need-to-know. It wasn’t everyday the mild-mannered if gruff Head of the New York Enclave engaged in torture, Circle member of not. If it got out what Alec had done, even for them, it would make some wonder.

Hell.

Jace was his _parabatai_ and it was making _him_ wonder what the fuck was going on with his brother.

He couldn’t even _imagine_ how faith-shaking it would be for someone else. Someone who didn’t have that kind of connection to Alec. Sure, there were some in the Enclave who second-guessed Alec. Thought that he was too young or too soft or too lenient with Jace and Izzy to be an effective Head. To _that_ section of their people, Alec’s actions in that interrogation cell would likely dismiss all of their doubts. Only at the cost of installing a whole new set in those who’d always appreciated and respected Alec’s strict-but-fair leadership.

Leadership which at the moment appreciated that his _parabatai_ was waiting for the door of Alec’s office to shut behind them and Alec throwing up silencing and privacy runes before Jace unloaded all of the turmoil Alec could feel writhing inside his brother since the moment Alec had set _stele_ to skin on their prisoner.

“Alright.” Alec lowered his arms to his side, staying as open as he could to his best-friend. “Say it. I can feel it and I know you want to.”

“Okay,” Jace sucked in a deep breath, scrubbing his hands through his hair before bursting out: _“What the actual_ fuck _, Alec?! What the fuck was_ that?!” He gestured roughly towards the approximate location of the cells under their feet. “Torture, Alec? You’re a torturer now? _What the hell_ has happened to you Alec? And don’t,” he held up a hand, pointing in warning. “Don’t blow me off with bullshit this time. This is _way_ bigger than issues with your parents and the Clave. _What_ is going on?”

Walking over to the runed-invisible bag filled with the damning information taken from Wayland Manor, Alec undid the spellwork with a wave of his _stele_ and dumped out the journals and papers and documents onto the wide – and empty – coffee table on one side of his office.

“I took a portal to Idris.” Alec told him honestly, though he was counting on Jace’s confusion and focus on the issue at hand to avoid having to explain how or when. “I was thinking about what you told me. About the Circle members who killed your father.”

Jace sucked in a breath as he crouched to sort through the stacks and stacks of paperwork and miscellany in confusion, golden eyes to look up at his _parabatai_ in shock.

“How?” He asked in astonishment as he recognized that bag as one of _his_. One he didn’t take with him – along with what little of his belongings he was allowed – when the Clave had carted him off and dumped him on the Lightwoods. “Why?”

“Something about it never made sense to me.” Alec explained – and again, it was the truth. Once he’d learned from Jace that it’d been Valentine all along that’d raised Jace, a lot of things that’d never added up suddenly made sense, much like finding out about his own parents’ connection to the Circle his upbringing had come into proper focus and alignment. “The stories you told about Michael Wayland and the stories my dad told. The attack. All of it. There was just something _wrong_.”

“What about the wards?”

“Wards can be tricked if you know what you’re doing.” Alec smiled weakly. “And all that reading I do has to come in handy for more than keeping Max from thinking he’s always the smartest guy in the room.”

Jace snorted in agreement at that. Max Lightwood, their little brother, and giant pain in the ass ever since he hit his pre-teen years and caught an attitude. He missed the little bastard who’d just turned sixteen but at the same time felt nothing but sympathy for the shmucks at the Academy and Scholomance who were responsible for trying to beat sense into a stubborn Lightwood head.

Angel knew, in that way Jace had fit right in with the other kids.

“Alec…” Jace stared at the handwriting that he knew – _he knew_ – was his father’s but that had nothing at all to do with anything he’d known about his father. Letters and fire-messages alike addressed to _Valentine Morganstern_. Details of experiments, rantings in journals… And none of it made sense but at the same time _all of it_ made sense. “Alec, what is this?”

“I found an angel with his _eyes_ removed, collared, bound at wrist and ankle, held inside a rune circle in the basement, Jace.” Alec told him, voice breaking a bit on the horror of it that lingered even knowing that Ithuriel was free now. Even with the choice Alec had made to trust his own instincts instead of the words of the captive angel. Here, now, he was glad that he’d saved Jace from seeing it himself this time. That didn’t mean he would’ve wished it on another soul to bear, even his own. “Michael Wayland _died_ before the Uprising, Jace. He was gay, and my father was awful to him, and he never had a son. And Valentine killed him for it or just to be able to live _as_ him, or whatever fucked up reason he had if he had one in the first place. That, my parents, fuck the more I learn about the Circle the more I _hate_ them.” Alec reached out and cupped one of Jace’s cheeks in his hand, staring into those broken eyes. “And I’ll do _anything_ to destroy them for what they’ve done to _us_ and to the downworld.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, enjoy a multi-chapter update.

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Nine: Demonic Details**

_“…here look at this, looks like Valentine was working on ways to control, like_ everything.

_We really need Izzy in here, Alec, I don’t understand more than a quarter of these notes on mixing magical and mundane compounds…_

_Angel, was there_ anything _this asshole wouldn’t screw with_?” – That final appalled question coming as Jace tossed the journal he’d been skimming for pertinent information they could actually _use_ instead of just being even more enraged, grief-stricken, and/or disgusted with Valentine’s crimes.

While Alec set to clearing the details of the interrogations and filling out all the required paperwork that had to be either completed by him as a head, team leader, or interrogator or simply signed off for one of those reasons, Jace dove in head-first to the haul of intel Alec had salvaged from Wayland Manor.

He’d told Jace a – slightly modified – version of events that didn’t outright lie but skimmed the truth or skimped on details in places, though as both of them were running on runes at this point and had waved goodbye to standard exhaustion and the idea of sleep hours before Jace hadn’t really picked up on any deception even if Alec would’ve let it link through their bond on accident.

Though at least with Jace read in on this part of things, he completely understood where Alec’s rage and change in attitude was coming from – even if at the moment the Clave was simply a convenient target for rage that never really went away as long as the biggest threats to Magnus’s life were still running around.

And through it all, Jace never asked the question that Alec knew was tingling on the tip of his tongue:

_If I’m not Jace Wayland…who am I?_

Thankfully, Alec was reasonably sure that even if the answer wasn’t in the pile of intel, he’d be able to make that revelation come about in a way that wasn’t even more suspicious than his actions the last couple days, though it depended on the circumstances. To strangers at the Clave, there would be no reason to question what the stoic, perfect Institute Head was up to over and above trying to clean up the mess his parents had made of their family names. It was Jace and Izzy he had to worry about the most, both of whom knew him – would _always_ know him – far too well for him to deceive them successfully without a hell of a lot of effort on his part along with at least a bit of luck to go with it.

His sister was smart as her whip, a forensic expert and skilled diplomat, whose only _real_ hinderance in rising high in the Clave was her caring heart and sympathy for Downworlders – which Alec didn’t consider a negative in the slightest – and that she took far too much enjoyment in her rebellious reputation.

He had faith that in time Izzy would grow into the same strong, fierce, independent woman and shadowhunter that she had in the _future-that-isn’t_ but at the moment she was still a bit hamstrung by inexperience and insecurity alike. She _would_ get there, he had no doubts about that, it was only the path that he couldn’t predict any longer. He had no intention of allowing either of his siblings to end up possessed this time, there _for fucking certain_ would be no _yin fen_ addiction thanks to that fucker Aldertree for Izzy to battle and overcome, and so on.

Alec wasn’t going to hinder her on her way to growing up, he loved her far too much for that, but he wasn’t going to just _allow_ her to struggle through the same trials that no one should ever have to experience if he could prevent it.

The same for Jace.

He wasn’t going to wrap up his _parabatai_ in cotton wool and stuff him in a closet somewhere, but he _certainly_ wasn’t going to let him turn himself over to Valentine, be tortured, or _fucking die_.

His siblings would grow up into amazing wonderful people and already were some of the best warriors in the Clave – and would only get better with time and field experience against stronger opponents than low-tier demons – but Alec _would_ protect them from what he could and support them when he couldn’t.

He might be back in time for Magnus alone – that was true and would never change, Magnus came first now and always – but he wasn’t afraid to use his advantage for other purposes as well.

Case in point: keeping Valentine from crawling any further into Jace’s head and fucking with his _parabatai_ ’s mind, heart, and emotional well-being.

Jace knowing he was raised for ten years by Valentine would enrage him – but it wouldn’t break his heart like it would thinking that he was actually Valentine’s son instead of a child that bastard stole to raise as an experiment into his attempts to create the “perfect” shadowhunter.

A flick of Alec’s stylus had the final draft of his reports, transcripts from the interrogations, and so on whisking away to Alicante straight to the Inquisitor’s inbox and flagged as the highest priority an Institute Head could give a report. If he knew anything about Imogen Herondale at all, she was already waiting on it. After getting the preliminary reports that Raj and Underhill had put together about last night’s operations and the possibility of actual Circle involvement, let alone _Valentine_ , he was actually a bit surprised he hadn’t already gotten a demanding phone call from her office regarding the matter.

The patience of an aged Nephilim politician he supposed.

In his experience the Inquisitor could be many things but impulsive was rarely one of them.

Vicious, cruel, bigoted, single-minded, controlling and much much more, but rarely impatient or impulsive. Every move and every word was considered. Which almost made it _worse_. With Imogen Herondale, unless someone managed to push her to the point of being infuriated to break her impeccable control, her cruelty was _calculated_. She meant it – always.

There were a few moments where she’d regretted it later – pushing away her son to the point that he joined the Circle and then later how she’d treated Jace and his friends only to find out later that he was her grandson – but those were few and far between to say the least.

“What’ve you got?” Alec asked as he walked out from behind his desk and over to where his _parabatai_ had taken over his coffee table and the surrounding chairs/couch as well as part of the rug to try and sort through the morass of paperwork/paper trail Alec had grabbed from Wayland Manor. He thought he saw the bones of an organizational system rising out of the mess but other than the journals he couldn’t really tell how Jace had things sorted at first glance.

Jace blew out a breath, coming up on his knees from where he’d been sprawled out on his stomach.

There was a disordered mass of various things to his left – what Jace hadn’t sorted at a guess and his brother confirmed a moment later with a wave of his arm – then he pointed to various piles.

“I’m mostly skimming to try and get a sense of what we have but even then I’m going to need brain bleach.” Jace grimaced, then pointed or waved to the variety of piles surrounding him. “Unsorted, that’s,” he waved at the journals taking up the seat of an armchair, “the journals I remember my-,” he caught himself mid-sentence and scowled. “ _Michael_ keeping in his office. Those,” he pointed to the journals and stacks of paper files roosting on the coffee table like the world’s most ominous flammable gargoyle. “Are what I think are his lab notes and experiment records. You’ll need Izzy for that, other than the descriptions of _what_ he was trying to do I can barely make heads or tails of it other than: awful, magical babble, insane, science babble, etc.”

“At least he’s a meticulous madman.” Alec commented when he felt – and saw – Jace start to get sucked under the depth of Valentine’s offenses against humanity and the downworld alike. “It’s terrible to have to sort through but it should help counter him if not catch him.”

“Yeah,” Jace blew out another breath, scrubbing one hand over his face. “That’s all stuff he’s received,” Jace sent a pointed _glare_ at the mess on the couch – some of which were only a single paper thick and others that were nearly a book in and of themselves. “Letters, purchase invoices, all of it from what you grabbed.” Jace shook his head. “His arrogance really is something and that’s coming from _me_.”

“No one had ever figured him out before.” Alec crouched down and wrapped a long arm around his shoulders, hauling him in for a hug. “It’s not so much as overestimating himself,” unfortunately, Valentine really _was_ as dangerous, intelligent, and brutal as his reputation made him out to be. “As he’s grown comfortable with his knowledge of his opponents and have started underestimating _us_.” He cupped Jace’s face in his hands. “And we’re going to _show him_ just _who_ he’s underestimating.”

A slow grin spread over that handsome face as golden eyes lit up at his brother’s words instead of the dimmed spirit that had come over Jace when Alec’s revelation about Michael Wayland have left him with a crumbling foundation and faith.

Alec’s words might’ve broken him – a little – but they were also what he needed to build himself back up: better, and stronger, for being broken in the first place.

His _parabatai_ had never failed him before, Jace was secure in his knowledge that Alec would always catch him if he fell and help him stand right back up and spit in the eye of anyone who doubted him.

“Yeah,” Jace reached up and squeezed Alec’s wrist as he held his face in his steady archer’s hands. “ _Fuck_ yeah we will. We’ll get this bastard and make him regret that he ever went up against the Lightwoods.”

Grasping Alec lightly around the back of his hand with a hand as strong from swordwork as Alec’s was steady from bowstring, he pulled him forward and pressed a kiss to the center of that forehead that was furrowed in worry and concern and stress far too often.

“I’ll go through the journals,” Alec decided after they’d had their moment and let go to turn back to the problem at hand. He grimaced at the deep-dive into the psyche of Valentine he was about to undergo. “But we need help and have to start scanning all of this for backups just in case.”

Considering some of the names Jace had seen on Valentine’s correspondence, he knew that _that_ was one of the best fucking ideas he’d heard in a minute.

Speaking of which.

“This,” he waved a hand over the semi-sorted mess. “ _All_ of this, it’s a fire-bomb spell Alec.” His face was dead serious as he looked at the experiment notes and the messages in particular. “Anyone handling it is as likely to get blasted as the target.” He turned to look at his brother. “And if it’s handled wrong – or right depending on the intent – it could bring down the Clave itself if the wrong people got their hands on it.”

“Scans, backups, and keeping it as quiet as we can until we figure out all of what we have is how we’re going to have to handle it.” Alec decided, reaching out and renewing his stamina and energy runes, Jace taking that as a cue to do the same. He’d have to get them actual food and sugar to keep going when he went to get the backup they’d need if they wanted to make anything close to a reasonable dent in the remaining pile and knowing what they had more than just sorting it all out before the hammer came down regarding the Circle from the Inquisitor. “I’ll go get us some backup.” He decided then rose and stretched, back popping in protest at the abuse he’d put it through with all the paperwork bullshit he’d had to handle in the last day without real rest. “And some food. We’ll work in shifts,” he flicked his hand between them to make who “we” was clear. “Not that I don’t trust Underhill and Izzy,” if anything he trusted those two and Jace more than anyone else in the Institute at the moment. “But like you said: this mess is a fire-bomb. Let’s limit the chances for collateral damage if we can.”

“Sounds good.” Jace sighed, hopping up onto his feet a twisting then clapping Alec on the back. “Until we get through all this we won’t know if we’re looking at a localized blast radius or half the damn _world_.”

“Given that it’s Valentine,” Alec bitched under his breath – though Jace’s grin as Alec dropped the runes on the door and went to get those reinforcements and supplies said he heard it loud and clear. “My money’s on the latter the megalomaniacal asshole.”

…

“Underhill,” Alec called out to the Ops lead after he hit the bathroom and went looking for his targets for backup on the mess in his office. “I need you, four document scanners, a clean and undedicated tablet, a clean external hard drive for backup, and the rest of your day in my office in fifteen minutes.”

Andrew Underhill lifted his brows a bit in surprise. That was the sort of order that normally was given to Raj or one of the admins, and failing that one of Alec’s siblings. But that it was weird didn’t stop him from following through, gathering up what Alec wanted and making his way – with energy bars and a bag of trail mix based on that “rest of the day” part of the order – to the Institute Head’s office.

Whatever that was going on in there had already kept both Alec and Jace going for more than twenty-four hours. Easy money said it had to do with the Circle member in the cells. And the interrogation, the file for which – including both the video and transcript as well as Alec and Jace’s reports, which had been flagged and locked down to the point that short of Alec’s security clearance or someone higher up the chain nobody had a prayer of accessing it. Well, that or hacking it. But if _Alec_ was taking that high of a precaution, anyone with sense would know that it would be their ass let alone their career to try a stupid stunt like that.

“Angel, Alec,” Izzy fussed as soon as her older brother walked into her lab where she was going over some of the test results from the autopsy the previous night with a fresh eye. Immediately she set down the reports and rose, noting the same clothes that her brother had been in when he’d went down to the cells the night before. “Did you even _sleep_?”

The dark circle under his eyes said a loud _no_.

“No,” well at least he wasn’t going to try and lie to her. “And I can’t now either. I need you in my office in ten minutes Iz, and you’ll be there all day and possibly into the night. I’ll fill you in once you’re there.” With that and a swift hug at her worried expression, he turned and strode away towards the cafeteria.

“ _Fuck_ , Alec.” Izzy hissed out a breath then spun on her heels and started cleaning up her reports and locking them away from any curious eyes. With the Circle apparently being a _thing_ again, she wasn’t taking any chances. Then she hurried to her brother’s office, ten minutes to get there or not.

After all, where Alec was – and without seeing Jace anywhere since last night – his _parabatai_ likely was also.

And while Alec might not tell her things due to both being a massively overprotective asshole at times, _Jace_ was much easier to manage when you knew the right buttons to push – and depending on how long it took Alec to get back to his office after getting whatever it was he needed from the rest of the Institute, she _just might_ have time to push a couple and see what information that got her without it being run through the Jace-to-Alec caution filter.

…

Once their help had arrived – and Jace had taken ten to deal with the unfortunate reality that even more-than-human shadowhunters still had very human physical needs – Alec briefed them on what they were up to after the runes were reapplied to the office door and he’d checked that there wasn’t an imminent fire or explosion that would level the Institute if it didn’t have the Head’s attention right that second.

He also might have taken ten second to type out a quick text to his love before silencing his phone except for High Priority alerts, but that was beside the point.

Underhill looked more than a little dazed at the sudden influx of information but was handling it with the competency Alec had come to expect after ten years – five from Underhill’s perspective – of working with the team leader and head of Ops under Alec.

Izzy on the other hand looked torn between smothering Jace with reassurances over his place with _them_ even if his childhood had been nothing but lies built by a madman and tearing through the experiment and lab notes to find the best ways to counter Valentine and nail his ass to the wall – which was also about what he’d expected though he’d also counted on there being more questions from her. He wasn’t dismissing the possibility that it was Underhill’s presence that was behind her uncustomary reticence. He also wasn’t counting on it lasting forever. His sister was going to want a _much_ better explanation when she wasn’t being buried under a deluge of world-changing information than what little Alec was willing to share at the moment.

Which was a problem but one he’d take care of when it came.

“Everything needs scanned and stored in at least two different places.” Underhill clicked right into managing the emergent issues he could see with the seemingly-innocent stacks and stacks of documentation that could disappear and leave them in the middle of a shit storm without evidence to back it up in an instant. “If this is as volatile as it sounds, people are going to try and make it disappear.”

“I know,” Alec nodded in agreement with that as he traded a glance with Jace. “One set on the clean tablet, back up on the hard drive.” He ordered. “The scans don’t stay on our individual tablets for longer than it takes to scan and transfer them – manually, not over the Institute’s database – to the secured tablet. I’ll use a mundane print shop to make and stash hard copies as well, and the originals will go in my safe as the Head, but even then…” he blew out a breath looking at the journals and letters in particular. “I want to say I’m paranoid but I saw some of the names on those letters. No matter how carefully we handle this mess I walked into, the fallout is going to be extreme.”

“If you make a big enough deal out of having copies of copies,” Izzy pursed her lips as she thought her way through the problem. “Then hopefully no one will try and kill you to shut you up.”

“I’m more concerned about them taking out the entire Institute to keep this contained.” Alec said, tone dry but ultimately being serious. “I can take an assassination attempt. It’s the collateral damage that’s going to keep me up at night as long as a couple of the people in there,” he jerked his head towards the pile. “Are wandering around without even a hint of suspicion on them.”

“I wish I could say you’re being paranoid, brother.” Jace sighed, grimacing as he bolted down a plate of the pasta salad and a sandwich that Alec had brought him along with a massive coffee from the cafeteria. “But I’m right there with you.”

“That’s never a good sign.” Izzy muttered, then picked up her tablet and one of the document scanners. “Let’s get this done, boys.” She ordered. “If someone is going to try and kill my _hermano_ over this shit, I want to know whose balls to cut off and pin to the wall for _daring_ to think they can fuck with my family.”

As Underhill winced – but moved to start with taking over sorting duties from Jace as the blond moved to the correspondence and Alec the journals – her brothers shared grins that read every inch of “that’s my girl” at her blood thirstiness.

Well.

As long as it wasn’t directed at one of _them_ , anyway.

Which happened _far_ too often for either of them to discount any kind of threat Ms. Isabelle Lightwood chose to make towards the male gender in general and those who threatened what was _hers_ in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	10. Chapter 10

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Ten: What’s in a Name?**

“Alec…” Izzy sat back on her bare heels, having kicked off her stilettos when she’d seen the mess that her brothers had been hacking away at on their own and settled in to get to work. “This is _way_ beyond anything I’ve ever seen before.” She told him, shaking her head as she waved a hand over the various stacks she’d sorted the notes – that would be giving her nightmares later, to be honest – into based on what species they were on since that was the only _real_ way to sort through the dregs of Valentine’s filthy, depraved experiments. “I mean,” she swallowed harshly, shoving down the details of what she’d read even if most of it was just skimming for a general feel of the information. “There’s human experimentation, poisons research, magic rituals, alchemy,” she hadn’t felt so lost in knee-deep in science and research since she was a kid. “A lot of it is so advanced that I can’t get more than a general idea of it without help from someone who’s more versed in magic and alchemy than I am.”

Lifting his head and blinking to clear his thoughts from his dive into the cesspit that was the private thoughts of Valentine Morganstern he looked at an exhausted Izzy then turned to Underhill for a similar report.

“Two dozen unmarked and active Circle members who slipped the net and the others didn’t turn on.” Andrew said quietly, just as sick to his stomach as Isabelle no doubt was. “Including the Consul. Three times that in supporters – though most of them were from before the Uprising, Valentine might’ve lost some of them in the wake of the trials and airing of the crimes of his people – about the same that did business with him but from all of this,” he gestured with what looked like an invoice still in his hand. “There’s no evidence I’ve found yet that they knew who they were working with. Some contacts in either the mundane or downworld. Some evidence of blackmail and extortion. We can’t take care of this ourselves, Alec.” He told his commander honestly. “It’s above even your paygrade. You need the Inquisitor.”

Alec glanced at Jace who’d been glad to accept Underhill’s help once the Ops specialist had finished sorting through the mess and turned to helping the others with their tasks.

“He’s right, Alec.” Jace rubbed one hand over his face, struggling not to give in to a bone-deep exhaustion that had nothing to do with overworking his body but the strain on his heart and mind he’d undergone. “Even if I want to keep some of this quiet on a personal level, we can’t. It’s either burn it all and pretend we never found it or turn it all over. I don’t think we can pick and choose.”

He’d been afraid of that but knew it was likely coming and resigned himself to it.

“On the bright side, depending on how you look at it,” Alec handed over the journal he’d gone for first after looking at the dates. “I have an answer about Jace.”

His _parabatai_ perked up as he took the volume from his brother, flipping it open and reading the passages Alec had marked, though his face crumbled a little more as Alec explained what he was talking about to the others, including the background behind _why_ Alec had thought to visit Wayland Manor in the first place.

“I’m relatively certain that Jace is actually the son of Stephen Herondale and Celiné Montclair.” Alec explained what he knew for certain came from the journals. “Valentine killed his parents – setting Stephen up during a raid and cutting Jace from Celiné before feeding her to the same werewolf pack that attacked and turned Lucian Greymark.”

“Why?” Izzy was baffled. While a lot of what Valentine did – as she well knew now from reading his experiment notes – was monstrous it was never without reason. Even if the reasons weren’t logical to someone who wasn’t _fucking insane_. She did some quick math. “He already had a son, what would he want with Jace?”

“JC Morganstern was another experiment.” Alec said, tight lipped with disgust. “According to this,” he held up one of the earlier journals than the one Jace was devouring. “He made a deal with Lilith, feeding his wife a tonic for “depression” that contained Lilith’s blood and turned JC into a hybrid: part demon, part Nephilim. JC exhibited behavior common for powerful warlocks – destructive magic, for example – from toddlerhood. Valentine decided to see if he could repeat the experiment with angelic blood and used Celiné’s fear over losing another child like her first to feed her similar tonics to what he gave his wife. When she was eight months along…” He trailed off, having already explained what happened to the Herondales.

“And the angel blood, that’s from Ithuriel?” Izzy double checked. “The one you found trapped in Wayland Manor?”

Alec nodded, tapping the fingers of one hand significantly on a small stack of four journals to his left.

One that – notably – he’d _not_ scanned despite his own orders.

“What’s in there?” Underhill asked the pertinent question.

“The sort of thing you destroy rather than risk someone else getting their hands on.” Alec told them – without _actually_ telling them – alluding to some of Valentine’s most dangerous knowledge. Such as how to summon and bind an angel. Or create his hellish version of the Forsaken. And so on. “If it weren’t for Valentine being abroad and running around freely, I’d go look up a warlock to take my memories of what’s in there. _This_ ,” he rested his hand on the small stack compared to the breadth of information he’d taken from Wayland Manor, splaying his long fingers over the cover of the top volume. “We _won’t_ be telling the Inquisitor or anyone about until we’re certain Valentine is dead and dusted and I can have that memory removal.”

“So, I have, what?” Jace asked, slumping backward against the couch and letting the journal fall to the floor at his feet. “Pure angel blood? I’m a Herondale? What does that even _mean_?”

“Nothing unless you want it to.” Alec was quick to tell him, ignoring the others.

“Johnathon Christopher.” Jace snorted derisively. “He even _named_ me the same as his son. Raising the both of us just the same until he decided on _which_ of us he felt was worthy. I guess I’m lucky.” His laugh was the most bitter, broken thing Alec had ever heard in his life. “At least he didn’t banish me to spend eternity with Lilith in Edom like he did his _actual_ son.”

“Wait.” Izzy held up a finger as something – a bit of Valentine lore – made itself known. “If Wayland didn’t have a son, and Valentine raised _both_ Jace and…JC?” She asked, shooting a questioning glance at Alec who nodded. That was how Valentine referred to his son. “Then _who_ was the boy who died in the fire with Wayland and the Fairchilds?”

Alec and Jace both shrugged, then Alec answered factually. “He never said, though he might’ve noted it in one of the later journals I haven’t gotten through yet.” He scowled. “I guess it wasn’t _important_ enough to him to deign to mention.”

“I’m _really_ going to enjoy hunting this bastard.” Izzy hissed.

“Careful,” Underhill cautioned. It was times like this that he remembered that for all Alec’s excellence as a Commander, he’d only been what – seven or eight? – at the time of the Uprising. And Jace and Isabelle were even younger. They hadn’t fought the Circle and Valentine like many others in the Clave and downworld had. “Many shadowhunters have said that. Have _meant_ it. The best of the best, the fiercest warriors and strongest soldiers the Clave had. And they still died. Don’t underestimate him. That’s a death sentence as sure as anything.”

“We won’t know what the angel blood does – other than make you a beast to fight,” Alec got back to the question at hand. “Except through trial and error. Maybe it just made you stronger and faster.” Which was actually true. Jace _was_ stronger and faster, with a quicker natural reaction time, than anyone else he’s ever sparred with. The only people who really stood a chance were those with a lot of experience with his fighting style and patterns or who were just _that_ good that their experience and skill overcame Jace’s natural aptitude. “Maybe there’s more to it. The point is that we have a lead on who your parents might be. Izzy can run a DNA panel, right Iz?”

“Of course,” Izzy smiled reassuringly. “We’ll make up a reason to get the Inquisitor’s sample, or something.”

“No need.” Jace sighed. “Valentine didn’t kill me partly because of Imogen’s influence. He’s convinced,” he sneered down at the journal on the ground. “That she’ll jump at the chance to reunite with a piece of her lost son. If we tell her the truth about what we found – about this bit at least – she’ll probably bend over backwards to have it proven or disproven of her own accord.”

“Birthmark.” Alec reminded his brother, tapping his own shoulder where the Herondale male birthmark – as they knew now – rested on Jace. “That’ll convince her you’re a Herondale, if not necessarily her grandson as what’s his name,” he blinked as if having trouble placing the name. “Kit? The kid the Blackthorns found in the LA Shadow World who’s an orphan?” He looked over at Izzy for her to back him up. “Has proven that the Herondale line isn’t as diminished as some people might prefer to admit.”

Izzy grinned at that, nodding. “Kit.” She confirmed. “Aline,” their cousin, Aline Penhallow. “Complains about him and Ty all the time.”

Ty being Tiberius Blackthorn one of the seven Blackthorn children, though notably the only one of the legitimate Blackthorn children with black hair instead of the rich brown of his full-siblings, and Kit Herondale’s best friend – though there were _a lot_ of rumors that they were more than that, especially since Ty’s older siblings had shot down suggestions from the Inquisitor of the two becoming _parabatai_ with alacrity.

“Great,” Jace scoffed, letting his head fall forward into his hands. “I’m one of the legion of _if you don’t know your last name it’s probably Herondale_. Awesome.”

“Hey,” Alec kicked out, nudge his _parabatai_ in the thigh. “Stop that. You’re a _Lightwood_. One of the legion of _we break noses and accept the consequences_. And if you want, we’ll make it official as soon as we sort things out. Jace,” he mused glancing up at the ceiling. “Jason William Lightwood has a nice ring to it.” He shared a grin with Izzy who gave him a soft, approving nod, then both of them looked over at Jace who was peeking up from where he was trying to huddle into himself, Underhill rather ostensibly _not_ paying attention to them as he busied himself with Valentine’s correspondence. “If you want.” He shrugged ostentatiously, putting his whole body into it. “Middle name is negotiable but would probably make Imogen less pissed and isn’t as obviously a play for her favor as Stephen or Marcus would be.”

The names of Jace’s biological father and grandfather, respectively.

“Yeah,” Jace cleared his throat when it came out a little watery. “Yeah, I’d…I’d like that. Being an official Lightwood.”

Izzy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Please.” She scoffed. “The only reason you don’t already have the name is because Dad is weird about Michael. You’re a Lightwood.” She told him, taking none of his “tough guy” bullshit on this. “Deal with it.”

“Now that _that’s_ sorted.” Alec sighed, looking around with soul-deep exhaustion at the stacks of imminent destruction surrounding them. “Anything else other than these,” he tapped the journals he’d set aside. “That’s guaranteed too dangerous to let into anyone’s hands, however trustworthy?”

“I can’t really say,” Izzy cast a contemptuous glare down at the notes spread out across the coffee table. “My gut says _all of it_ but without a magical consult from someone we trust – and good luck finding someone – I don’t know what we can burn and what we’ll need to create counters.”

“All of this needs saving,” Underhill waved a hand at the invoices, correspondence, and miscellany. “I think it’s just the journals that are the worst from what you and Jace have said.”

“Alright,” Alec sighed. “Then I’ll burn these.” He moved over to his empty fireplace, getting out his stele and drawing a fire rune on each and tossing them in to burn under their watchful gazes. “And I’ll keep the others with me until I can go through and separate what needs kept and scanned from what’s dangerous.”

Picking up the bag he’d had the intel stored in before dumping it to show Jace, he stacked the journals inside then motioned for the others to add their own part of it inside along with the tablet and external hard drive. Keeping it all in the same place was – and wasn’t – smart from a security perspective. But as he had every intention of locking the bag down with every glamor and security rune he knew it was better than leaving it spread out and separated until he had a full accounting of what he was dealing with.

“Thank the angel.” Izzy accepted Underhill’s hand up and twisted to let her back pop. “I don’t know how you two are still standing.” She eyed her brothers critically. “ _Parabatai_ ,” she clicked her tongue in mock-disdain. “Bunch of cheaters.” Reaching down she scooped up her heels and used a patient Andrew to slip back into them, having _zero_ intention of getting ichor or demon ash someone tracked into the hallways after a hunt on her skin.

Jace – oh so maturely – stuck his tongue out at her and barely waited for Alec to sling the bag over his shoulder and glamor it with a rune before taking down the security and privacy runes on the office door and disappearing, leaving nothing but a whisper of displaced air behind him as he headed straight for his room.

He needed a scalding shower to burn the stench of _Valentine_ off of him and twelve hours of dreamless sleep before he went digging back through that asshole’s dealing again.

Honestly, Alec was amazing. He didn’t know _how_ his brother was keeping his cool – and a calm stomach – while reading those journals. Jace had only read the parts Alec had marked for him and he wanted to bathe in lava to get the _ick_ off of him.

Alec always _had_ been stronger than anyone realized.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with his muscles and everything to do with his mind and heart.

Izzy and Andrew took care of gathering up the empty glasses, plates, and wrappers from their snacks or food breaks, both with thoughts similar to Jace’s and needing to get the cesspit that was Valentine off of their minds.

Though, not as exhausted as their companions, had _entirely_ different ideas of how to manage it.

…

[Message Received: Unknown Number – 12:00PM]

_I hope you haven’t been holding your breath._

The cheeky – but ever-so-charming – text message wasn’t what Magnus had expected to see when his phone buzzed with the rhythm of his personal number rather than one of his work lines the morning after the _unpleasantness_ at his club involving demons, Circle members, and shadowhunters.

Sad to say, in his experience with the children of Raziel, at _best_ he’d hoped for a bit of transparent flirtation leading to a one-night-stand and failing that being ignored. It wouldn’t do for a _Commander_ to be seen with a _warlock_ after all, even the High Warlock of Brooklyn, in a social setting. At worst, he’d expected his offer of a drink being used either for Alexander to try and use it for a magical favor or a booty call – which was terminology he found _quite_ distasteful if far too accurate.

On the contrary, what he’d gotten was playful. Cheeky. And had come far sooner than his most hopeful expectations as well.

Magnus saved the number attached to the message that made him smile _far_ too widely for having only had a single cup of coffee, then hummed as he summoned a refill on the life-giving substance from his favorite Turkish coffee house in Istanbul as he contemplated his reply.

[Message Sent: Alexander – 12:05PM]

_Oh dear, it seems I have. Can I expect a valiant rescue?_

He almost resisted but, really, Alexander had set him up perfectly for it and he sent the second message anyway:

[Message Sent: Alexander – 12:06PM]

_Mouth to mouth, perhaps?_

To his dismay, Alexander didn’t reply immediately, though that _was_ understandable given his no doubt packed schedule as the Head of the Institute plus his capture of a Circle member the previous evening.

Magnus’s own schedule had quickly filled as a result of the same, as his warning to the warlocks of New York had kicked off a flurry of requests for warding consultations or renewals. Warlocks might be proud to the last one but when it came to their personal survival they didn’t tend to put pride before practicality. There was no one more powerful in the country than Magnus – and no, that wasn’t merely him stroking his own ego. When push came to shove, his warlocks knew they could count on his magic to protect them – if they were willing to ask and pay the price when necessary.

Still, despite the Circle seeming to rear their ugly heads out of their temporary hiatus on being foul little cockroaches that needed exterminating with extreme prejudice, things were looking up.

His people were warned and aware of the danger, a definite improvement over the last time Valentine made a menace of himself and his zealotry.

Business was booming.

And best of all: he had a handsome shadowhunter willing to both work with – or so it appeared – a warlock _and_ engage in a bit of flirtation though to what end remained to be seen.

A benefit of immortality: Magnus had all the time in the world to find out what plans were being made behind those stunning blue eyes.

After all: he did _so_ love a challenge.

Instinct told him Alexander Lightwood might just be one of the more interesting ones he’s faced in all his life.

He could hardly _wait_ to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	11. Chapter 11

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Eleven: Power Play**

“It takes a staunch resolve to turn away from heavenly temptation.”

Alec was less surprised than resigned to find himself waking up – well, figuratively speaking – once again in Asmodeus’s throne room in Edom once he passed out face-down and exhausted onto his bed.

Using – or abusing – runes to remain awake far beyond the normal capabilities of even the most fit and practiced shadowhunter had its side-effects. Mainly: when he crashed, he crashed _hard_. His body had to find the energy to keep going from somewhere and sugar and food could only do so much to provide it when what he really needed was rest. Once he woke, likely having gotten maybe a fraction of the actual rest he needed to make up the deficit, he’d be aching from head to toe.

Jace at least could get as much sleep as he actually needed to recover, and Underhill and Izzy hadn’t pushed themselves nearly as hard.

It was only Alec that was going to be in sore and exhausted despite having slept, but it couldn’t be helped.

With all the drama that was sure to come once the Inquisitor made up her mind, he couldn’t afford to be asleep when her orders came down – or worse, she showed up in person.

If he was _lucky_ her office would send warning.

Given his experiences with her, he wasn’t counting on it and would rather be safe than sorry.

“If I learned anything from the last five years.” Alec spoke once the fog of sleep lifted and left him standing next to his father-in-law as Asmodeus once more sprawled in his throne. Feeling the bone-deep ache of what he’d done to himself with his runes even in the dreamworld, he hitched himself up onto the arm of Magnus’s throne. Somehow, he had a feeling his beloved wouldn’t mind and he didn’t have the capacity at the moment to play power games with his father-in-law. “It’s that if my instincts say something is wrong, it probably is. Ithuriel might’ve been telling the truth: that it wouldn’t hurt Magnus for me to further increase my angelic power, that it wouldn’t have negative effects on me, that I need the boost to defeat the Morgansterns.” He jerked a shoulder. Considering that it’d been Clary who’d killed both her father and older brother the first time around, he wasn’t willing to discount the possibility that her extra angelic powers played into it more than he’d assumed at the time. “It doesn’t matter when my mind is saying _yes_ but the rest of me is screaming _no_.”

“Wise choice.” Asmodeus turned a bit, adjusting his sprawl to semi-face his son-in-law. “Even with your sigils against mental control and influence, once Ithuriel was in your blood he would’ve had a direct link to you: heart, mind, and soul. I don’t doubt for a moment that he found you worthy, even far preferable to that irritating redhead he’s connected to, though at least your _parabatai_ has his tolerable moments under all that bravado. But being guarded against _direct_ attempts at control and influence wouldn’t have prevented him from working on you in other ways.”

“Clary’s dreams,” Alec commented with a knowing look in his eyes. “And visions, her minor gift of prophecy. Those were all from Ithuriel in addition to her ability to manipulate runes, right?”

“Correct.” Asmodeus nodded. “Angels are prevented from direct intervention with mortals, even Raziel’s children. A rare exception were his conversations whilst trapped with his two “children” and your own in this reality under similar conditions. Even his communications with the redhead stretches the rule of non-interference. But in your case, my rune on your soul would, if he were so inclined, to take more direct methods as it could be argued that you’re no longer _strictly_ mortal after interacting so _intimately_ with both my own and Magnus’s magics in addition to the boost of pure angelic blood.”

“Great,” Alec grimaced. “The one time I wouldn’t have minded being told that my paranoia was pointless and instead I was right. That’s…awesome.”

“The issue remains however,” Asmodeus continued, as he hadn’t _only_ brought Alec for a chat though compared to the options in Edom his son-in-law wasn’t exactly objectionable now that he’d shed his Nephilim self-righteousness. “That Ithuriel’s offer wasn’t without merit. Lilith’s half-breed spawn,” he sneered, baring his teeth at the mention of Morganstern’s little experiment. “Is formidable. Even with your improved experience and new runes, I cannot predict how a fair fight between you would end.”

“That’s _if_ I knew where to find him.” Alec pointed out with, crossing his arms over his chest. “And who said I would go after him for a fair fight?” He snorted at the idea. “Evidence to the contrary aside, _Jace_ had issues fighting him on even ground and I’m not the swordsman my _parabatai_ is and has always been. I’m an archer. I prefer high ground and an advantage wherever possible. I don’t fight _fair_ against unfair opponents – of which the Morgansterns both qualify. As long as they exist Magnus will never be safe.”

“Hmm, I do believe I just got shivers.” Asmodeus smirked, cat-eyes flashing. “Keep talking like _that_ and we’ll make a proper consort to the Prince of Edom out of you yet.”

“Magnus doesn’t need a consort.” Alec countered. “He needs someone to fight the battles he can’t. To get their hands dirty when his code won’t allow him to do what is necessary if not moral.” Magnus’s stint being raised by the Silent Brothers for a decade hadn’t done his beloved any favors when it came to accepting his darker impulses and neither had Asmodeus’s attempts to force him into unleashing them. To say that his love had a _complex_ about acts that could be defined as _evil_ – like killing – under some moral codes would be an understatement as a result of Magnus’s eclectic upbringing. “I love him, I always will and I would never change him. He’s not a killer. I am. I don’t mind doing what he can’t. On the contrary: I prefer it that way.”

“As I said,” Asmodeus smiled wickedly. “A _proper_ consort to the Prince of Edom. I _do_ hope you’ve enjoyed my gifts.” He glanced significantly down at the bracelet on Alec’s wrist. “Leave finding Lilith’s spawn to me. _You_ focus on preparing to take on him and his father. If the past taught the two of us anything: you’re going to need it.”

…

Alec was honestly shocked to wake up that morning and realize it was because his alarm had gone off and not because someone was banging down his door.

They’d broken up the dive through Valentine’s land of _ick_ – so dubbed by none other than the legend Jace Lightwood – around midnight. A response back to Magnus’s texts once he was in his room, if only a slightly-groggy one of: _What kind of man do you take me for? I need at least dinner, or another drink, first…_ _😉_ and then a shower had put him at pushing one o’clock before he was actually in bed and falling asleep.

To pick up his phone where it was on its charger and realize it was actually seven a.m. and he’d gotten about as much sleep as he could reasonably allot himself with everything going on…he was surprised.

Either there was another problem going on elsewhere that’d kicked off before his messages regarding the Circle hit Imogen’s desk, or she was being extremely thorough in going over what was submitted before she made a decision. Or both. Both was entirely possible.

Given everything and well – _every fucking thing_ – that’d been going on in his life this time five years ago, for him anyway, it was more than likely something had been going on that he’d just missed between fighting off his Jace-and-Clary angst, struggling with being closeted, and the weight of his parents’ unending demand for perfection.

If he’d been a lot bit self-involved and not up on what was going on elsewhere in the world, he thought he’d been allowed.

Having Imogen’s decision about the Circle intel – as well as the Clave Council’s regarding his Headship request – hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles wasn’t ideal either, but at least now he had a wider perspective given all he’d gone through in his life than the last time he’d gone through all this.

Asmodeus was right after all: knowledge would only get him so far.

He was ahead of the game now but both JC and Valentine were significant opponents to face even with the odds in his favor for once instead of theirs and the element of surprise stripped away. Alec didn’t intend to lose that edge time-travel had gifted him with because he got lazy or cocky. And to that end he got out of bed despite the bone-deep ache from rune abuse, climbed up and did some stretches before getting dressed for his morning workout.

He’d already skipped yesterday because of Valentine’s bullshit.

He wasn’t going to get rusty and out of shape and end up _dead_ because of it.

Besides.

Magnus always had been visibly and vocally appreciative of the… _benefits_ of dating and then marrying an active shadowhunter.

Alec had zero intention of depriving him of it because he knew that while Magnus’s initial attraction had been to his looks and body, he’d fallen in love with _Alec_.

That working out had always helped ground himself and let his mind focus easier was merely another benefit as far as he was concerned.

Dressed, shoes laced for his run, Alec smiled at the response Magnus had sent him:

[Messages Received: MB – 00:31]

_Oh Alexander, I would never be so presumptuous._

Which Alec knew was a blatant lie. 

_Nor do I have a problem with earning such a boon._

_When does the ever-so-busy Commander have time for himself? Soon I hope._

He didn’t respond though he typed out a message for later. At this time of the morning Magnus would be grouchy if his phone went off. A morning person his beloved wasn’t.

{Message Saved as Draft: MB – 07:15]

_Hard to say, but I’m hoping for clear skies in a few days. If you’re always up late, we might try a late drink on T or W? Tentative. Your choice of place._

Then he slipped his phone into the pocket made for it in his running pants next to his _stele_ and set out knowing full well that depending on Imogen his likelihood of actually being able to _send_ that message might be high or she might drop a bomb on his head that’ll keep him running ragged for days or weeks.

Still.

Hope springs eternal.

Worse came to worse, at least he knew with Magnus’s wit that there’d be no shortage of clever texts in his future as long as he didn’t decide to ghost the time-pressed commander of the local shadowhunters.

If Magnus did…well.

If there was one thing Alec knew how to do better than anyone – except _maybe_ Camille – it was get Magnus’s attention when he needed it.

…

If Alec was shocked at being allowed to wake up to his alarm and then go through his morning routine of a run, yoga, and even a weapons workout – bow _and_ staff _and_ sword – before getting cleaned up and having breakfast, he was flat-out stunned that he actually made it all the way through to lunch before hell broke loose. He’d done the standard running-the-Institute paperwork and approved the reports from patrols the previous night. Signed off on a couple “tips” on blood-dens he’d put into the system for missions for that night – his memory was long and he had a grudge against Camille, sue him. It was as he was sitting down to lunch with Jace and Izzy and making plans for both a spar with his _parabatai_ later and to continue going through the journals and lab notes – pretty much all that was left of Valentine’s stuff that needed scanned in – and was _then_ finally alerted by Ops that they’d received a highest-level priority message from Alicante.

He’d been right. The Inquisitor hadn’t been willing to let a subordinate handle news of the Clave. She was coming.

Now.

In person.

“I’ll put the journal with the information on the Herondales on my desk.” He said abruptly, staring down Jace meaningfully, his _parabatai_ steeling himself and nodding. It wasn’t what any of them would rather but avoiding it would be far worse for everyone involved than telling her when she was literally in their faces. If anything, she might actually appreciate that they didn’t attempt to hide it despite – or as far as anyone could prove – them only knowing about Jace’s connection for less than a day. “Wait for me outside my office Jace, Izzy can you prep for a comparison panel?”

“Got it.”

“Of course, _hermano_.”

With a _look_ at his siblings that was a clear _behave_ and _to battle stations_ all at the same time, Alec bolted down the rest of his food and knocked back the rest of his water before jumping up and handing off his tray for the younger shadowhunters – or whoever was on his or one of the other Commanders’ shit list that day/week – to clean up, using a burst of rune-powered speed to hit his room-office-the portal entrance to the Institute before Imogen Herondale actually stepped one toe from Alicante to New York.

There’d been a lead time of ten minutes given on the message but since it had to filter through the NYI system before hitting Alec’s tablet that’d left him about eight to actually head her off unless he wanted her met and greeted by whoever was on portal duty.

Which was apparently Raj, who had _had_ to have sent the actual guard away.

Alec barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes at the sight of the eternal ladder-climber trying to ingratiate himself with the Inquisitor before he’d ever even met the woman and realized that it was impossible to get on Imogen’s good side.

Unless you were Jace, she no longer had one.

It died with her son and – or so she currently thought – her grandson.

To no surprise from his previous encounters with Imogen, she arrived with a pair of aides-slash-guards in tow, dressed impeccably in a severe skirt-suit considered “appropriate” by Alicante society for a woman in her sixties or seventies, hair up in a smooth chignon – thanks Magnus for making him learn all about fashion and beauty by osmosis – with exactly the correct makeup and jewelry for a matron to finish her look.

Maybe it was experience or maybe it was having faced off with opponents far more fearsome and dangerous than Imogen Herondale – though he wasn’t discounting the very real threat she posed to him and his beloved, as well as everyone they cared about – but he found it far easier to elongate his spine to his full height, straighten his shoulders, and lift his chin rather than slump and fall into parade rest as if he was facing the firing squad at the very sight of her.

No.

This time she wasn’t judge, jury, and executioner in spirit if not deed over his sister and he wasn’t terrified out of his mind for Isabelle, Jace, and everyone he cared about because of both their own actions and those of Valentine and the Circle.

Instead, she was just another barrier he had to overcome and he was a strong, unyielding Consul-Who-Was who’d done far more to unify the Shadow World in the years he’d been working towards peace than the likes of Imogen Herondale – or worse Malachi Dieudonné – have accomplished in all their long and _illustrious_ careers.

He might be young but she wouldn’t – couldn’t – cow him.

If he knew anything about reading people, even someone with as good of a mask as Imogen, whatever of those thoughts showed on his face, she rather approved if the flicker of pleasure at his firm, stoic stance was any sign.

“Inquisitor Herondale,” he stepped forward immediately once the portal froze back into dormancy and the trio formed up with Imogen in the center and two steps ahead of her aides. “Welcome to the New York Institute. I am the Acting Head Alec Lightwood,” he turned his head slightly, a bit of a wry amusement tilting up one corner of his mouth. “This is one of my admins Raj Hayward.”

“Acting Head Lightwood.” Imogen pursed her lips, sending a _pointed_ look at “Raj” behind him. At her age and having risen as high in the Clave as she did, she could spot someone trying to garner esteem at twenty paces and _that_ one both from her own appraisal and that little _tick_ to Lightwood’s introduction made it clear that that was exactly what she was dealing with there. Good to know. “Your messages came during a bit of a change over in Los Angeles. Under ordinary circumstances both your request and your information have been dealt with in a timelier manner.”

“On the former I was expecting a greater wait, Inquisitor.” Alec held in the urge to arch a surprised brow. Now that was something he’d never seen coming. Gesturing for her to precede him into the Institute he fell in at her side as she strode into the main entrance of the Institute, both of their natures preferring to walk and talk rather than waste further time. “Though I will admit that latter surprised me.”

“Your record is both impeccable and unblemished, Commander Lightwood.” Imogen said, sharp eyes taking in the slight _hum_ of a thriving Institute, one of the largest in the world due to the high concentration of demonic activity in the Tri-State area. There were few larger, as demons seemed to thrive in some areas better than others. Such as Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Hong Kong though all major cities once they have a large enough mundane population tended to have at least a slight demon problem. “Any message from your desk marked High Priority would be treated as urgent as a result. Tell me,” she shot him a demanding look as he led her towards his office. “Is it true?”

He didn’t pretend to be confused regarding what she was asking.

“It is.” He nodded once, firmly. “Intelligence gained from both the demon and the Circle member has been followed up on in at least one respect and we have reason to believe that it’s credible. Valentine Morganstern is alive and brazen enough to have sent two men into a club owned by the High Warlock of Brooklyn to complete a demon deal for mundane blood.” As soon as the door to his office shut behind them, leaving one of her aides outside and the other – Lydia Branwell, his former friend and one-time fiancé both in the future-that-isn’t, because of course it was – in the room with them, he switched gears. “I also performed a secret raid on what I had reasonable suspicion between capture of the Circle member and other information in my possession was one of Morganstern’s hideouts and retrieved detailed journals, communications, and notes on all kinds of experimentation as well as other information regarding the depths of Morganstern’s crimes.”

Imogen blinked, _almost_ showing how taken aback she was at the latter information as much as she’d been expecting the former.

“What?” She demanded once her mind clicked back on.

“You’re talking about Wayland Manor.” Lydia was the one that put the pieces together. Though to be fair, while an ancestral manor crumbling and the wards failing after ten years was a surprise, it wasn’t all that noteworthy either. “The former home of your _parabatai_.” She cocked her head slightly to the side. “What made you suspicious that it might be being used by Morganstern?”

“I wasn’t,” Alec dodged that a bit. “More that it was being used by the Circle. There were inconsistencies in Jace’s story about his father’s death that never made sense to me and Pangborn was one of the men believed to have taken part in the raid on the Manor.” He stood in front of his desk rather than behind it. With these two that sort of power play wouldn’t gain him any ground, even as Imogen took up his wordless offer of a seat to make herself comfortable and watch him like a hawk. “Any and all of which I would be more than willing to swear to by the Sword.” He added, knowing full well that once they saw what he’d gathered and met with Pangborn themselves that they wouldn’t require it. “I went through the house as quickly as possible based on Jace’s memories. But,” he added with a grimace. “And this part you’re going to want me to swear to on the Sword, it was what I found in the basement that’s the reason for my request,” sent the previous night on one of his breaks from reading Valentine’s journals. “For a private discussion, Inquisitor, along with some of the information gathered from the Manor.”

“Tell me.”

“Valentine’s experiments included testing using both demonic and angelic blood on humans, including children in utero.” Alec laid it out as simply as he could. “The angelic blood was harvested from an angel he’d summoned and bound in the basement of Wayland Manor and linked to the Manor’s wards. The angel was…faded. Abused, weak. When I helped him free himself, the Manor was destroyed in the process. But before that,” he held out the journal on his desk, already marked for the pertinent passages as Jace hadn’t removed them the night before. “I salvaged, as I said, a great deal of information from the Manor.”

“You’re right.” Lydia said, lips pursed and brows raised skeptically. “That’s _quite_ the story. Almost unbelievable, even for Nephilim.”

“Then I’m glad my _impeccable_ reputation precedes me.” Alec shot back. “Because at least _one_ of the claims in those journals and experiment notes and correspondence we can confirm in multiple ways.”

A quiet gasp from Imogen followed by the furious rustling of pages was a satisfying counterpoint to Alec’s verbal sparring with Lydia.

“How?” The blonde asked with a concerned dart of her eyes at her boss.

“According to his own words, Valentine Morganstern had Hodge Starkweather _steal_ the infant of Celiné Herondale neé Montclair from her body before feeding her to the feral werewolves in Borceline Forest.” Okay. Maybe Alec was enjoying this a _little_ more than was suited for an Institute Head or former Consul. But still. Making Lydia’s jaw drop like that was _worth_ it considering how she’d shaken – accidentally or otherwise – his world once-upon-a-time as well as putting his sister _on trial for treason_ while engaged to him. “Valentine apparently raised the child in hiding.” He ached a brow at the blonde. “As Michael and Johnathon Christopher Wayland. Did you know that Jace has an interesting birthmark on his shoulder? _And_ that Hodge was cursed to never leave the NYI?” He looked gazes with the stone-faced form of the Inquisitor. “Why don’t we go ask him? See if my story is as insane as it sounds when you’re staring at my _parabatai_ ’s Herondale birthmark and getting the truth from Hodge. Then there’s also _this_.” Alec held out one of the _other_ things he’d taken from Wayland Manor.

Imogen nearly gasped as she saw the ring – _that ring_ – hanging on the chain that she’d last seen around Celiné’s neck. Reaching out, she took it from the young man who was _unrelenting_ when it came to persuing his aims. But holding her son’s ring – the Herondale ring – in her hand, she found it hard to blame or condemn him for it considering what it, possibly, had gained her as a result.

If he was like this in all his dealings, he would make quite the Institute Head.

“Oh believe me,” Imogen’s voice was glacial – though, notably, not directed as the Lightwood Heir. “We _will_. And the rest of it?” She demanded. “Is it as…”

“Incendiary?” Alec suggested drily. “ _Extremely_. Let’s put it this way: we’re going to need a new Consul and a third of the Council if what I found in Wayland Manor is any sign.”

“Well,” Imogen stood, journal tucked firmly under her arm and ring-and-chain held tightly in her clenched fist. “Introduce me to your _parabatai_ , won’t you?”

“No problem.” Alec smiled. “He’s waiting right outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	12. Chapter 12

** Endarkened **

**Chapter Twelve: The Law is the Law**

Jace had grown used to feeling waves and waves of resolve spilling through his bond with his _parabatai_.

It had only been a couple days now since Alec found whatever it was he found that led him towards the truth of Maryse and Robert and the Circle and completely upended Alec’s worldview but his brother was many things: indecisive had never been one of them and changing his mind once he’d made it was a nearly impossible feat that Jace had only accomplished a few times in his memory.

Izzy had her moments too, and Max was better at it than both of them put together, but that was the sum of Alec’s weaknesses: Max, Izzy, Jace and in pretty much that order for all that Izzy might say that Jace was more important to Alec than her but she did have a blind spot about that.

Had almost since the moment Jace arrived, to be honest.

How she couldn’t see that Alec loved her with a totality that wasn’t diminished by his love for anyone else he would never understand.

Jace couldn’t quite see what Alec’s endgame was with all the moves he’d been making. He knew that it had to do with the Institute, Alec had been upfront about that. But there was something else. Another aspect to all this that Jace couldn’t figure out, he just wasn’t sure if it was because of an information deficit or because of the two of them Alec was far superior at playing the long game.

One thing he did know was that whatever it was Alec was after with his setting himself up actively against the Circle and Morganstern and maneuvering for control of the Institute and the Lightwood family, he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

And if that meant Jace playing nice with a stern older woman who might or might not be his grandmother – who also happened to be the Inquisitor of the Clave – he’d do it even if he’d rather hide from the possible truth of his origins for…well forever.

Alec called him a Lightwood, offered him the name in front of _witnesses_.

And that?

That meant more to Jace than any blood connection that hadn’t meant a damn thing all his life until it suddenly did.

The door to Alec’s office opened, Jace leveraging himself off the wall where he’d been trying – and failing – to make conversation with the stiff guard who’d accompanied the Inquisitor, and he heard his _parabatai_ call for him in that soft voice of his that somehow always carried no matter how noisy the area around him was.

It was a neat trick and one that Jace knew wasn’t an act or something that Alec had had to practice.

Like a lot of things when it came to being a real leader and not just someone with a title, it came naturally to Alec.

Entering the office and closing the door behind him, the standard privacy wards going back up as soon as the door closed – but not the stronger ones that Alec would have to apply by hand – Jace took a split second to scan the faces in the room and see how things stood.

He wasn’t expecting any real antagonism due to his bond with Alec being so calm, but he wanted to double check nonetheless and decide on what tactic he was going to use with these… _outsiders_.

The blond – who looked about as warm and feeling as an iceberg in a North Atlantic winter – seemed skeptical but willing to listen and take her cues from her boss.

Alec was calm, every inch the NYI Head who was in control of the flow of information and power at the moment for all that the Inquisitior ostensibly held more power and greater authority.

As for the Inquisitor, well.

If Jace had seen that look on a stranger, he’d think that they were eyeing him up for a meal.

Given what Alec had told – and Jace had read and researched for himself – of the Herondale family history, he placed that expression of yearning and hope and hunger as a mourning widow who’d buried her only son, daughter-in-law, and as recently believed as a matter of minutes ago her grandson.

“Jace,” Alec took charge as he could tell as easily as his _parabatai_ that Imogen wasn’t in any state to lead despite her seeming strength only a moment before. “The Inquisitor would like to see your birthmark.” Alec turned to the Inquisitor and her aid. “Our pathologist has already run a DNA panel on Jace at his request yesterday evening. If a sample is provided she can have official results within a day for indisputable proof of relation.”

Lydia nodded firmly – even if she trusted her boss explicitly, in this instance more than any other it was entirely possible that her judgement _could_ be compromised and she wasn’t going to allow the Clave to use it against her – as Jace came over to the couch in the sitting area and tugged down the neck of his shirt, revealing his shoulder.

Imogen let out a little gasp, free hand coming up to cover her mouth as her eyes watered forcing her to blink conspicuously lest she give in to an unseemly – for the Inquisitor – display of tears.

It took her breath away, seeing that star-shaped mark once more.

More than thirty years of marriage she’d spent looking at that mark on her husband Marcus’s shoulder, then caressed it as a loving mother on the shoulder of her son.

A son who, other than his eyes, had fathered a son of his own that shared a marked resemblance with his father.

“If your _parabatai_ hadn’t told me who you are thought to be,” Imogen finally said, reaching out and tugging Jace’s shirt back into place, straightening it in a matter-of-fact fashion that spoke of _years_ of doing the same for her late husband and son. “You would have been a painful reminder of the past.” She swallowed harshly. “That test will be needed for the Clave,” she lifted her eyes to glance over at Alec Lightwood. “I don’t need it.” Her eyes went back to her grandson’s beautiful face. “He’s a Herondale.” Her gaze hardened, fist spasming around the ring in her fist as she handed the journal over to Lydia for safe keeping. “Now,” she rose, motioning Jace up and tucking her arm through his. “Why don’t you boys take me to meet your weapons master.” Her eyes nearly _blazed_ with banked rage. “I have _much_ to discuss with Hodge Starkweather before he’s taken to the City of Bones to await trial for _kidnapping_.”

After all, unlike mundanes the Clave didn’t believe in a statute of limitations.

If anything, Starkweather should give thanks to the angel that they _did_ have a double-jeopardy law or else she would take _great_ pleasure in raking him back over the coals for every crime he was already serving a sentence for.

However, in the end even – or perhaps especially – for her: the law is hard, but it is the law.

…

The Inquisitor ordered the entire roster of shadowhunters and Nephilim attached to the New York Institute to assemble in the cloisters area that was – normally – a large empty space used for sparring. Only the guards on the cells were exempted, and even then they were taken tablets to watch as one of the techs remained in the Ops Center to record her announcement in case of anyone who was out on active missions or on leave or loaned to another Institute, etc., as well as route the live feed to the guards’ tablets. Her second guard, who Alec didn’t actually know or remember, took a collapsible, well, _booster_ was the only way Alec could describe it complete with steps that once set up turned a flat piece of metal into a raiser for the Inquisitor to address a crowd where a catwalk or stage wasn’t already available.

Alec stood at her immediate right in parade rest, Jace and Izzy two steps behind him, while Lydia and Imogen’s unnamed guard were in the exact same formation behind the Inquisitor.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the cloisters being utterly massive – almost two thousand square feet alone – even with standing room only and people crammed in, they wouldn’t have managed to fit the entire adult roster of the NYI in one room, despite missing about five percent of their number for the allowable absences.

Imogen’s icy eyes ran over the packed room, a glance to Alec and receiving a nod – everyone had been required to scan their access cards into tablets monitored by Jace, Izzy, Underhill, or Ms. Branwell on entrance so they had an accounting of every attendee – then she began.

“With the possible return of the threat of Valentine Morganstern and his Circle of fanatics.” Her voice was aged but resounding none the less – though Alec thought he spied an amplification rune hidden by the severe collar of her jacket – and easily filled the cloisters as the two-hundred plus people gathered went silent giving the Inquisitor and highest judicial authority of the Clave the utmost respect. “The strength of the front-line warriors of the Clave has never been more important. Institutes all over the globe are charged with leading the fight against demons and with the protection of all denizens of the world. _Leadership_ which must never falter and never fail. Leadership which one among you has shown without hesitation or blemish, with the utmost of courage and resolve. Leadership which it is my _great honor_ to officially bestow upon the new Head of the New York Institute, one Alexander Gideon Lightwood, Commander of the New York Enclave.”

With an extended hand, Alec easily made the step up onto the riser, Imogen clasping his arms with her hands – her arms over his, their hands as near the inner elbow as possible, an old Clave salute – granting him a scant smile and nod, then smoothly stepped down and leaving him above the Institute alone, Imogen moving smoothly to position between her aides as Jace and Izzy stepped over as the others traded places with them – a statement that was smooth as if they’d practiced it relentlessly instead of just being natural for them.

“The Clave has gifted me today with a great privilege and a profound responsibility. Not just to our Enclave, but to the City as a whole.” His voice carried with as much depth as Imogen’s but, as Izzy would jest later, far greater feeling. “Make no mistake: with the return of the Circle here on the streets of _our city_ we are under siege and it is our duty to hold the line against the madness of Valentine Morganstern and his sycophants.” His face visibly hardened, eyes like ice chips against the ivory of his skin and the darkness of his hair. “There will be no quarter or mercy granted to Valentine Morganstern or his fanatics or those found to be in collusion to him. My precedent in the matter of the Circle is clear: we only need _one_ alive to question.” He nodded at Underhill and his team who’d been moving into position, more than a few gasps and even shouts of surprise coming when Hodge and two others found themselves attacked and bound from behind before they could even do more than begin to worry. “Hodge Starkweather, Cleodona Waterson, and Thomas Yancy: you are all hereby under arrest for suspicion of collusion with Valentine Morganstern and thereby treason against the Clave.” His gaze ran over the suddenly still members of his Enclave, every inch of his face, body, and tone projecting his resolve. “From this moment, no shadowhunter leaves the Institute in less than a three-man team. Non-active duty Nephilim shall travel at least in pairs. No exceptions. The Circle has returned and the threat as they have proven in the past, is not against the downworld alone. They will kill anyone they deem necessary to fulfill their leader’s aims. Let’s not give them the opportunity. New rosters and mission assignments will be available by nineteen hundred hours and several teams will be dispatched with the Inquisitor as extra security to transfer prisoners to the Gard. Dismissed.”

Izzy let out a soft whistle as she watched more than ten-score members of the Enclave scatter. Many likely to gossip and talk about the changing of the guard – as well as that it was at the Inquisitor’s behest and not the elder Lightwoods passing the torch as had been expected for several years. Some, however, were _less than thrilled_ over one or more of several points from Alec’s appointment, the Inquisitor’s near gushing – for her – over his record, the arrests, or Alec’s stand and new security measures.

“I’m so proud of you, _hermano_.” She murmured quietly as she kept her gaze locked on the dispersing crowd, Alec stepping down to join her and Jace in watching for trouble spots. Though knowing her brother, he already had an idea of where and what to look for and a plan to handle the worst of it. It was the lesser of it that wouldn’t warrant a large reaction or preventative – like a transfer – that worried her. There were times when bitter whispers were more deadly than any poison. And she wasn’t about to let petty bitches take shots at _her_ brother. “Have you heard from the parentals?”

“Not yet.” He admitted, eyes cutting this way and that as the last of the Enclave trickled out. “I imagine they’re waiting to ambush me at the least convenient for me moment. Right before the hearing regarding Headship of the family if I have to guess.”

Imogen had warned him – in her way – that while she could give him the Institute as many in the Clave thought it was rightly his by now anyway, that the Lightwood Family was a different beast altogether.

Not even the Consul could strip a Headship without a meeting of at least the Council.

Given the spectacle his mother would make of a full Clave assembly, he was still hoping for the smaller Council meeting to decide his petition.

Though angel-knew with Imogen stripping the NYI and giving it to Alec, it wasn’t looking good for his parents to keep hold of their last remnant of power outside of their personal connections and leverage – which only an idiot would discount.

He simply doubted that they had anything of the same level as returning the Inquisitor’s lost grandson to her – and doing it so disingenuously that she never suspected she was being handled – and would have even less clout once the Inquisitor’s office was through investigating the rather large list of Circle members or supporters that he had for her complete with the correspondence to back it up thanks to his foray to Wayland Manor.

“You’re going to have to force some transfers.” Imogen noted, seeing for herself what the younger generation was keeping an eye on. As many years as she’s been doing this job, she almost had a sixth sense for dissent in the ranks. And while it wasn’t rampant among the New York Enclave, there _were_ pockets of discontent. “Which will leave you shorthanded going head-to-head with Valentine. Not an optimal position by any means.”

“There’s a dozen I had short listed as immediate issues,” Alec turned his back to the cloisters, Jace and Izzy turning with him and flanking him, creating a bit of two half-circles with Imogen and her aides that didn’t _quite_ connect. “Three of whom are now under arrest. Another eight or nine that can wait while we integrate incoming transfers to help fill the gaps. We might end up a couple or even a handful lighter in number than we had before my appointment but we’ve,” he gestured to his brother and sister. “Have never been afraid to run missions and patrols as needed before and that’s not going to stop now that my title is official instead of pro tem.”

“Very good,” Imogen nodded, pleased, then gestured to Lydia. “Ms. Branwell will sit down with you and go over the current list of requested transfers – either from current postings or new and upcoming graduates from either the Academy or Scholomance.”

The former of which offered basic shadowhunter training and field-rating while the latter trained the elite of Nephilim warriors, scholars, and healers.

“Now,” Imogen turned a firm gaze to her grandson. “I would like Jace to escort me to the cells while you are busy with that, Commander Lightwood. We have a Starkweather to question.”

A nod and a push from Alec had Jace stepping forward with all the charm he normally had at his disposal – though he’d been a little off him game, understandably, after recent events – and offering his arm with the unnamed guard falling in behind the pair.

“I’ll be with Andrew,” Underhill, “in my office with that research, _hermano_.” Izzy said, referring to her work on what she remembered of Valentine’s lab notes without actually having them in front of her. Unfortunately as long as there were visitors in the Institute, it wasn’t safe to bring out more than what she knew from plotting with her brothers that Alec was planning on giving to the Inquisitor for her to use for her own investigations.

Alec nodded again, accepting a hug from his little sister in another round of congratulations, then stared at the woman who once upon a time had been both friend and fiancé.

There was no regret when he looked at her, except for the pain she – and he because of her – put Magnus through.

There wasn’t much of anything at all.

He’d liked Lydia well enough.

But she was far too bound to the law as things stood now for him to want to be more than distantly professional with her.

“Shall we?” He asked, waving his hand back and toward the exit that would lead them to the quickest path back to his office.

He had new recruits and transfers to sort out.

And a text to send.

With as much positive capital as he’d garnered with the Inquisitor today, he was feeling hopeful regarding his chances of being able to make it to drinks – in a few days, anyway.

Which might just grant him enough time to locate even an ounce of chill when presented with Magnus’s beautiful self but he rather doubted it.

If five years of loving the warlock hadn’t done it yet, he doubted a couple days would make a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


	13. Chapter 13

**Endarkened**

**Chapter Thirteen: Precedent**

[Message Received: 1642; From: MB]

_Ahh, the punishments of competence._

_Excellence repaid in yet more work._

_I suppose, if I must wait, I must._

_Shall we say Tuesday @ 10; The Hunter’s Moon?_

Despite himself – and knowing that he has an audience, however polite, in Lydia who was still helping him with debating pros and cons of various possibilities to fill gaps in his ranks left behind by those who would be transferring out, willingly or otherwise – Alec smiled, a wave of nostalgia filling him even as he knew it was a test from his beloved however benign.

He hadn’t been aware of it before, and maybe it hadn’t been a test then because Alec had already proven his willingness to work with downworlders, but with a pack-owned downworlder bar being Magnus’s date spot of choice for a shadowhunter, he’d been testing him nonetheless.

Without the background that Alec knew, Magnus was definitely testing him this time.

Not that Alec could blame him.

In Magnus’s shoes, Alec would want to test whether Alec’s sympathetic nature was limited to warlocks he wanted to sleep with – as far as Magnus knew – or even date or if they were towards downworlders in general. With the level of distrust shared between shadowhunters and downworlders, he expected it. Despite, or maybe especially, because he was the Head of the NYI.

Thumbs flashing over the screen of his phone, he shot off his answer then got back to reviewing the candidates.

“I still can’t believe there’s so many Blackthorns on this list.” Alec murmured, remembering that clusterfuck that’d gotten dumped on his shoulders last time when he was working with the Clave in Alicante after the distrust of the Seelie or anyone connected to them after the Queen’s bullshit and double-dealings. 

Though maybe that was why there were so many Blackthorns on the list. He couldn’t imagine many Heads other than their sister’s (closeted) girlfriend and Alec’s cousin Aline Penhallow willing to take a chance on having a scandalous Blackthorn in their Institute. What with the elder two being half-Seelie and Mark, the younger of the two Seelie hybrids, spending centuries riding with the Wild Hunt and living in the Seelie realms while only a few years passed in the mortal realm.

“Not every family is as,” Lydia chose her words carefully. She liked Helen Blackthorn, truly, and her younger sister Livia was strong and fierce. But she could definitely see where having too many Blackthorns in the same Institute could be problematic. Especially since the Blackthorns had lost leadership of the LA Institute after their uncle had been revealed to be incompetent due to advanced mental deterioration believed to be a combination of former torture and early onset dementia. Moving some of the Blackthorns to serve under commanders that they should – in theory – hold blameless for the Clave’s decision to remove their family from their base of power was merely sound damage mitigation. “Understanding or smooth in their transitioning between roles of authority and relation.”

“The younger siblings don’t want to take orders from Aline, then?” Alec guessed with a knowing smirk. “And are pissed that Helen is staying on as her second?”

Lydia let out a soft sigh. “Something like that. The youngest is still studying in Alicante while the next youngest was easily placed with her _parabatai_ in Dublin. The rest…”

“Julian’s _parabatai_ as well, I presume.” Alec hummed, scanning the various profiles of the middle Blackthorns, then grinned when he came to the next profile and arched a brow at his “helper.”

“He’s well trained,” she smiled carefully at the sometimes prickly eldest Lightwood. If rumor was to be believed, Alec Lightwood was as strict and exacting a Head as the Clave could wish for with rare exceptions and everything she’d seen thus far had backed it up. No one had thought to mention how politically astute he was however. If he could manage New York’s downworld as excellently as he did the Inquisitor, she was looking at the new face of the Clave for their generation. “High scores across the board and field-rated and ready.”

Alec snorted softly, smiling all the while as he clicked the button to approve the transfer.

“And sixteen,” he responded. “And a giant pain in my ass that likes to light things on fire.”

Still, he wasn’t about to say no.

Not when it took his little brother firmly out of the sphere of influence of their parents back in Idris and under his direct control as a shadowhunter under his command.

Sixteen.

When did Max stop being a tiny ten year old lighting tables on fire in Mumbai?

“Yes to the Blackthorns and Carstairs as well?” Lydia asked while he was smiling.

“Yes.” Alec sighed then reviewed the rest of the short list. “I’ll take the Lost Herondale too, plus Nightshade, Montclair, Rosales, and Singh.”

“That will still leave you short.”

“We’ll manage.” He sighed. “But with Valentine I can’t afford problems with integration anymore than I can to be heavily short-staffed. I’ll make it work. Let’s get those transfers processed so I can focus on the rosters, patrol routes, and mission assignments to cover the gaps until my new people get here.”

“You’re the boss.”

Yes, Alec smiled to himself as he felt a new message buzz in on his phone, yes he was.

…

[Message Received: 1700; From: AL]

_It’s a date, provided the world doesn’t end first._

_..._

**_I’ve had a firm talk with it, you should be fine._ **

**_…_ **

_It won’t disobey?_

_…_

**_Even the end of the world knows better than to get between me and a beauty like you, Alexander._ **

**_…_ **

_Wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of the High Warlock of Brooklyn._

_…_

**_Which merely shows good taste._ **

**_…_ **

_An important trait in an apocalypse, I suppose._

_…_

**_Indeed, darling._ **

…

Alec had to admit that trudging through transfer requests - incoming and outgoing - as well as his personal list of “must go _now_ ” plus figuring out the roster was a lot more enjoyable interspersed with texts to and from Magnus.

A knock on his office door had the journals and paperwork recovered from Wayland Manor tucked out of sight by the others - Lydia having joined in their mission and helping Izzy, Jace, and Underhill make sense of their parts of the project or scanning in documents passed over by them, a temporary reassignment made by the Inquisitor until the New York Institute was back up to full staffing - with Jace pulling down the secrecy runes then Alec called for the shadowhunter in the hall to enter.

Underhill’s second, Jake Nightshade, poked his head in the room cautiously.

No one really _knew_ what was going on with the Lightwoods and their visit by the Inquisitor, though most of the Enclave was either pleased or flat-out excited for Alec’s on-again/off-again leadership to be made official, but the consensus among the majority of the active shadowhunters was that if it had all of three of them plus Underhill and now a member of the Inquisitor’s office working day and night on the project around their other duties that they didn’t _want_ to know what was going on.

Though many had opinions or guesses on what it might be, most assumed it had to do with the Circle at best and possible involvement of the elder Lightwoods at worst, especially given Alec’s new official status as the Institute Head.

Still, even with drama, worries, and reassignments and transfers being handed out like candy, the work of the Institute carried on leaving Jake as Andrew’s own second-in-command to pick up the slack.

“The teams from the blood-den raids are all back and mostly in one piece, Commander.” Jake reported succinctly.

“Come in and shut the door, please.” Alec ordered, setting aside his tablet and focusing on who was going to become the second in command over security shortly, as soon as he was done with all the paperwork for reshuffling the NYI and filling immediate posting needs from the incoming transfers. “Summarize it for me.”

“Out of the half-dozen raids,” Jake relaxed into parade rest and ignored how many pairs of eyes he had on him at the moment, focusing on his boss alone. “We had one major injury on our side, death of one vampire, and serious injuries to three subjugates. Taken into custody we have nine humans whose status as subjugates is unknown, six confirmed subjugates, and eleven vampires.”

“Run all of their mugshots and fingerprints through our database, then again through the mundane.” Alec ordered. “Do we have any statements that can be used to arrest vampires not present?”

Since the making of subjugates has been illegal as of the signing of the Seventh Accords in 1962, if even _one_ of those humans - subjugate or otherwise - was younger than that and they can prove it he has the ammunition he needed to take down Camille, though he hoped that the rest of the DuMort Clan was wise enough not to be involved outside of her immediate loyalists.

When it came to the vampiress who’d wounded Alec’s beloved over and over and over again over the course of centuries, he was more than willing to to piss off the rest of the Clan by cleaning up their mess rather than leave them to handle it.

Because _that_ had worked out _so well_ the last time.

“Maybe.” Jake shrugged. “One of the vampires is a baby vamp. Only risen last night at best and seriously confused. We’ve given him a blood supply in his cell but until he’s coherent we won’t know if he chose to be turned or if it was done against his will. The vampire who was killed was his minder, a known Belcourt loyalist from the DuMort Clan.”

Well, _shit_. Alec thought, that line about fate wanting to right itself ringing in his head. This was earlier than last time, something about avoiding Clary’s interference and involvement seemed to have sped up Simon’s kidnapping and turning if he was right - by a significant margin at that, if it _was_ Simon and not some other unlucky bastard.

“Get an ID on him first.” Alec told him, already reaching for the phone. “And Nightshade? Good work.”

“What are you thinking, brother?” Jace asked as Alec reached for his desk phone with a grimace on his face.

“I’m thinking that we can’t afford a war with the vampires in this city when we have the Circle crawling all over it.” Alec told him, even as he looked up then dialed the number for the DuMort Clan’s second. And one of the supernatural “kids” that his love had fostered and/or mentored over the centuries, one Raphael Santiago. “I’m going to _calmly request_ that the Clan leadership come in and answer a few questions regarding the matter. Then, when Camille Belcourt attempts to decamp from the City and leave her Clan to clean up her mess.” He continued, already rising as he filled out the mission information as the phone rang through to voicemail. “We’re going to imprison her and try her for her crimes.”

He smiled with satisfaction when Santiago failed to answer, likely dealing with a few fires to put out of his own thanks to Alec’s raids.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, gesturing for them all to gather up the information from Wayland Manor for him to lock it away. “The DuMort has at least two underground accesses plus several on the ground level. I’ll try the Clan again when we’re in position with a full call-out of the active shadowhunters who didn’t just get back from raids or patrols.”

With the actual possibility of dealing with Camille before she could hurt Magnus again riding him and sending an acute sense of anticipation tingling down his spine, Alec was _eager_ to get into position and have one more threat to his love taken care of before they could cause Magnus any more harm.

…

One of the first tasks Alec took up - before Lydia helped him with combing through the transfer requests and the new graduates in need of a first posting - was an official, formal announcement to the Shadow World of both his own ascendence to the post of Head of the Institute under his own merit _and_ that - basically - as far as the Clave was concerned with Valentine poking his head back up that it was now officially _open season_ on Circle members.

Even for Downworlders, including a bounty list that had been updated on the Inquisitor’s orders.

They were sent by fire message and contained what amounted to a CC’d notation at the bottom of the “Kill or Capture” notice for known Circle members.

Honestly, Alec didn’t anticipate - but wouldn’t have been surprised to hear - that while the bounty list was cheered and plans were set for the more confident, dangerous, or plain stupid members of the Downworld to collect on those bounties, quite a few of the wiser denizens of the city were just as happy to see Alec’s posting as the new Head.

What that said about either Alec’s reputation - or that of his parents - remained to be seen, along with whether the positive notion would hold now with Valentine acknowledged as alive and well once more.

Though it had to be said: if Alec had made a statement with his “we only need one alive” stance on Circle members - which added to raising his reputation among the Downworld - how he chose to handle his first instance of a Downworlder flagrantly breaking the Accords spoke as well to his mettle.

And, as more than one shadowhunter put it over the years and would eventually be taken up by the rest of the Shadow World, showed that “Alec Lightwood’s sense of fairness and justice was so highly honed it could be used as a knife’s edge” though whether it was said with wonder, appreciation, or scorn _highly_ depended on just who was saying it.

…

Magnus opened and read his copy of the dual-announcement with bemusement.

Here he was _flirting_ with the - official now or so it seemed - Head of the New York Institute and yet on one hand Alexander was the sort to be _willing_ to flirt with not just a warlock but the High Warlock of Brooklyn whilst on the other he was all right and proper nephilim conduct with his official announcements _to_ said High Warlock of Brooklyn.

It was far more charming than it had any _right_ to be, that duality of nature - the rebellious, good-hearted nephilim and the stern, commanding shadowhunter commander - as well as pulse-tingling attractive.

Because there was subtext to be read as well - it seemed there _always_ was subtext when politics came into play, and being who they were there was no such thing as simply going out for a drink - and if Magnus was reading into it correctly, beautiful Alexander had no intention of crossing lines between “Alexander and Magnus” and the “Head of the New York Institute and the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Not yet anyway. What might come later - if they had a later - was yet to be seen but at the moment from what Magnus could tell, Alexander was not making any presumptions due to their flirting.

It was refreshing. A shadowhunter who saw a warlock as more than what they could do. A highly placed nephilim who didn’t make presumptions and demands on the Downworld.

Whether it would last now that young Alexander had risen as high as he could without returning to Alicante and Clave politics, well, that remained to be seen as well.

His phone ringing - rather than the trills it gave for a text message, which had been sending accompanying tingles down his spine as he bantered with Alexander for most of the evening - brought him out of his thoughts for the moment as he answered the caller with a smile, already knowing what his Grumpy Cat of a vampire son wanted to talk about.

“Raphael dear one.” Magnus answered the call, snapping himself up a fresh martini while he was at it and setting the message from the Institute aside. “Let me guess: the DuMort has received their own copies of the nephilims’ announcement.”

“It’s not a trap then.” Raphael let out an unneeded breath - _vampire_ \- at that implied confirmation that Magnus had received a copy as well. “This is real? The Clave are giving the Downworld permission to hunt their rogues?”

Magnus hummed at that before telling his son his own thoughts: “Perhaps not the entire Clave, and not their rogues entirely. But the new Head of the New York Institute and those rogues marked with the Circle Rune: yes, so it seems.”

“Do you think he means it?” Raphael pressed, the warlocks having much more to do - whether they liked it or not - with the nephilim than the other Downworlders. It was a distasteful reality for both sides: the Clave _needed_ the magics of the warlocks, despite them being from their own perspective the most “tainted” of the Downworld species while assisting the Clave helped keep the nephilim satisfied with their compliance to the Accords and returning to hunting warlocks like they once did. “This Commander Lightwood?”

“I’ve only met him the once.” Magnus took care to dance around the subject a bit. Foster son or not, Raphael was still the shadow head of the DuMort Clan with Camille more concerned with her own selfish pursuits. Letting his _son_ know that he was considering a flirtation - and perhaps more - with the new Institute Head was one thing. Letting the Head of the DuMort Clan know that the High Warlock of Brooklyn was considering the same was a different matter altogether.

Oh to be a simple warlock who was interested in a mere shadowhunter, even then the political considerations wouldn’t be nearly so fraught despite the almost Romeo/Juliet implications.

At least word of the shadowhunter raid on both demons and Circle members at _Pandemonium_ had well made the rounds of the Downworld and Magnus didn’t have to explain what he meant by meeting Alexander.

“But, at a guess, I do think he means it. There’s a vendetta there, against the Circle, that I don’t know the story behind but when it came to dealing with the pair at the club the Commander was utterly without mercy. The rumors making the rounds from shadowhunter gossip picked up here or there is of a precedent of - to quote - _we only need one alive to question_ when it comes to the Circle.” Magnus mentally shrugged as he sipped idly at his drink. “That he deigned to warn me of the demon activity around the club as well as the shadowhunter patrols as a result prior to the incident speaks well of shadowhunters minding their manners for once going forward.”

“We’ll see.” Raphael was much more sceptical than Magnus but that was par for the course. The aged warlock always _had_ been more optimistic - if startling pragmatic at times - than his own nature. “If he was so quick to make a precedent regarding the Circle, it won’t be long until he makes one regarding the Downworld, I only hope…” He trailed off as a furious knocking rang through his soundproofed rooms in the penthouse of the DuMort. “Hold on.”

Speeding over to the door, he flung it open to the sight of a wide-eyed and visibly worried Lily, his second in running the Clan while Camille busied herself with her personal entertainments.

“Shadowhunters.” She reported. “Dozens of them. They sealed the underground exits with holy oil waiting for a match and from the scent they’ve ringed the entire hotel.”

“Raphael!” Magnus shouted from the cellphone that _crunched_ as his foster-son clenched it too tightly in a supernaturally-strong fist. A curse, then he was jumping to his feet and had a portal ready a moment later, stepping out of his penthouse and into his son’s room at the DuMort just behind the vampire who stood shocked and pale - even for a vampire - in the open door of his rooms. “Raphael.” He repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“The Commander is setting his precedent with the Downworld.” Raphael bit out, handing over the message - _order_ \- that had flamed to Raphael at the same time Lily gave her report. “They’re here for Camille.”

Magnus sucked in a pained breath, eyes wide on the fire message as Raphael gave orders to Lily.

They didn’t have time to wait for their chance to overthrow or imprison the dangerous vampiress on their own terms any longer.

Not now.

Not with what she’d done - and been stupidly _caught at_ \- by the shadowhunters.

The message was simple:

_Camille Belcourt is wanted for questioning by the New York Institute to answer for crimes regarding the creation of subjugates, unlawful turning of mundanes, and the operation of blood-dens._

_Signed:_

_Commander Alexander Gideon Lightwood_

_Head of the New York Institute, Head of the New York Enclave_

_Undersigned:_

_Lady Imogen Herondale_

_Inquisitor of the Clave_

Well, Magnus supposed they knew what precedent the new Head of the Institute was going to make regarding the Downworld and what line he was going to draw for them all to walk - a hard one.

“It seems,” Magnus said when he found his voice. “That the son is not content to follow the same hands off policy of the parents.”

Raphael rolled his eyes as they all left his doorway and strode in unison down to the foyer of the DuMort.

“Considering that Camille has been under suspicion for crimes against the Accords for longer than I’ve been a vampire.” He bit out, scowling fiercely. “But no one has ever _done anything_ about it and left it for our people to handle, and now I have what by our current count of the Enclave’s population to be almost the entirety of their garrison here ready to light up the hotel or kick down the door if it means bringing her in, I’d say not.”

…

**Author's Note:**

> This is a major plot-bunny that has bitten me that I'm tinkering with in-between stretches of working on Hunter's Bane. Mainly due to the fact that there's a major shortage of either dark Malec or time-travel fics for this pairing so...yeah. Unlike Hunter's Bane this is an actual WIP that will likely go on hiatus when the New Year starts and I focus on completing some of my older works. All that said, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


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